


25 Days of TI

by generic



Category: Thrilling Intent (Web Series)
Genre: Alarani Power Siblings, Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Alternate Universe - College/University, Christmas, Gen, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Meet-Cute, Mentions of Death, Multi, Secret Santa, ashe caring about her weird senile grandpa, characters will be tagged as they appear, gay old men, impocrates but a cat: hippoCATes, just your friendly neighborhood curse merchant, not a lot very small but.., pigbats
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-01
Updated: 2018-12-21
Packaged: 2019-02-09 04:55:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 21
Words: 38,367
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12880605
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/generic/pseuds/generic
Summary: based on the prompts found here: http://alloftheprompts.tumblr.com/post/134349883493/25-days-christmas-romance-challenge featuring the TI crew*EDIT* surprise bitch bet you thought you'd seen the last of me. i brushed up the old chapters, and hopefully finishing this this year





	1. Character A and Character B, sworn enemies, are chosen to prepare the company Christmas Party.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gregor spends the day with Charoth

It would not be a far stretch to describe the collective Nine Shrines (Adventure and Dines) adventuring party impulsive or opinionated or strong-willed, but Gregor always prided himself on being pretty level-headed. You had to be calm, always, all the time, if you were not only going to protect your friends, but _prove_ to them that you were able to and you wouldn’t let them down. But sometimes his _friends_ , who he loved _very much_ , made that task harder for him.  


Namely by keeping a very literal god of death in the bar with them.  


With her.  


Ashe.  


He still asked her about it occasionally. “What are you planning to do with it, really, Ashe? You won’t live forever, and what if it starts killing again? It’s stupid; stupid things can be dangerous. Just ask Kyr.”  


At that, she usually snapped at Gregor to leave... _Charoth_ alone, but he knew that he was right. It was a monster, it killed without reason, and the world would be better off without it.  


Markus tried to reason with him that Ashe would be incredibly unhappy if the thing were to die, which Gregor appreciated – Markus was always thinking about how people were feeling. But, well, life was just like that sometimes. No one ever said doing the right thing was _easy_. But the point was that you took all of your hurt and put it away, turned it into something better, and moved on. And anyway, it wasn’t as if _Ashe_ was going to grow into a giant and kill a population if Charoth died. They couldn’t say the same for the monster.  


Markus then explained the reincarnation process that it went through. _“This”_ Charoth was a baby – not _“really”_ the creature that went berserk on the island. Of that, Gregor was especially skeptical. Thinking that having a new, more forgivable face ( _trustworthy, helpful, good, **lying-**_ ) would change its past, or even begin to excuse it, made something tight well up in Gregor’s chest, but he put that away. For now, he would just have to keep a very close eye on it.  


In hindsight, it’s no surprise that the universe would twist that invitation around on him.  


Ashe rushed into the bar one day, bringing a brisk rush of air in with her.  


“Have you seen Charoth anywhere?”  


Gregor shook his head vaguely from his seat at a table.  


She paced a little in front of him, running an anxious hand through her hair and her anxious eyes over the bar. “I haven’t seen him anywhere. Yesterday either. And it’s getting cold out. Are you sure you haven’t seen him?”  


“I’m sure I haven’t seen him.”  


Gregor felt eyes on him. Ashe was giving him a careful look.  


Things had been...better between them since they returned from Onorhant, in a way that he couldn’t quite put into words. He’d always loved his friends, and Ashe was still prickly sometimes, but they’d also kept each other quiet company through enough vigils in the earliest hours of the morning, and afternoons hiding away from the too-loud bar to find some peace together. Even if Ashe’s… _pet_ continued to be a… _tense_ topic, Markus was always saying that friends trust each other, so that’s what they were doing: trusting each other not to do anything rash. So, Ashe was trusting that Gregor was telling the truth. Still, she had another, trickier question to ask him.  


“Could you…” she said carefully. “Look for him?”  


An uncharacteristically dark look grew on Gregor’s face, and Ashe cut him off before he could speak.  


“I know you don’t like him,” An understatement. “Obviously I know. And believe me, I asked anyone else I could think of, but they’re all busy-”  


“I’m busy!” Gregor protested. “Thog asked me to get the bar ready for the…” he thought back. “The ‘non-denominational winter holiday company party.’”  


“Exactly! So you’re going to be at the bar all day! I’m going out to look for him, all I need is for you to wait here and see if he comes back.”  


He gritted his teeth stubbornly.  


“Gregor...please.”  


It made him feel so _itchy_ hearing Ashe talk about it like it was something important. For just a brief, angry moment, Gregor’s head filled with all of the protests and accusations and frustrations that he wanted to _shout_ for once, but instead, he let out a sharp huff of air and finally murmured, “Okay.”  


Ashe looked surprised, but her expression relaxed into a soft smile.  


“Thank you. I really appreciate what you’re doing.” Her words were carefully chosen but genuine. Gregor nodded slightly and relaxed the hand gripping his leg under the table so he could wrap a spare scarf around Ashe’s neck; at the very least, he wasn’t going to let her get sick on account of that thing.  


Now slightly muffled by wool, “Oh thanks! I’ll be back tonight. If he comes here, just...make sure he stays? It’s really cold outside. I hate it!” And she was gone, closing the door behind her.  


Gregor hated, hated the thought of protecting a monster, however passively, but she was right in that he would be at the bar whether or not she asked him to be. With luck, it ran away for good.  


_Maybe it even died,_ Gregor thought pleasantly while he set back on his work.  


*  


A small fire burned through the afternoon while Gregor made his way through the careful checklists Thog had left for him – move these tables here, fetch this many chairs, stock those bottles – but the quiet was interrupted by a rattling from the corner of the room. Just barely perceptible above the low crackling fire, Gregor’s eyes flashed up from the inventory, and he carefully made his way towards the heavy chest and pried the lid open.  


Dark blank eyes stared up.  


Gregor scowled back.  


“Well, I found you.”  


He considered closing the chest back up and leaving it there. Maybe the monster could tell, because it quickly scrambled out on its dark, spindly limbs. Yuck.  


But that meant that Gregor’s job for Ashe was done, so he could continue his chores around the bar in peace.  


Move the tables. Sweep the floor. Fetch chairs. Check the monster. Stock the bottles. Organize the glasses. Check the monster. Hang decorations. Check the monster. Polish the silverware. Check the monster. Set the tables. Check the monster.  


All the while, _it_ remained perched on top of the chest, seeming content to stare out into nothing ( _was it watching him?_ )  


A few too many minutes passed since Gregor checked to see where the monster was and his skin prickled. Still there. Gregor gradually began tossing comments its way to keep his focus on it.  


“You’re in the way, _monster._ ”  


“You’re taking up space.”  


“You shouldn’t be here.”  


It only ever stared back passively, but Gregor always had to filter himself around his friends to avoid getting chided, or more often fretted over, which was ridiculous. It was nice, cathartic really, to hear it out loud, and it probably couldn’t understand him anyway. The day drew on and Gregor’s words were given free reign until he was talking to himself more than anything. He was worried if Ashe would ever really trust him the way she did Thog or Markus. He couldn’t sleep at the bar unless he had his glaive. Sometimes it made its way into his dreams, in its shrimpy for or new, killing Gregor’s old families and new.  


“But I guess that one’s not completely your fault. I have lots of dreams about lots of things…” Gregor reflected.  


The monster looked up from playing with its cape.  


“Don’t do that. I still hate you.”  


It went back to its cape. So small and calm. So simple. So different from what Gregor knew death was really like: blood red and bruising purple and fangs and claws and enormous- indifferent and unpredictable. That only proved that it couldn’t be trusted. ( _ **Lying, lying, lying lying-**_ ) His chest began to tighten again.  


“You don’t care.” Gregor’s voice was quiet. “Of course you don’t; you’re a monster. If you did care, I could tell you to stop. To go away. But it’s just what monsters do, so I have to make monsters stop; that’s what _I_ do.” Gregor was barely aware of his hand reaching for his glaive. Gregor wouldn’t have to say anything. Maybe…the thing got lost. Maybe it just died out in the cold. Maybe if it was gone, Gregor could finally explain to Ashe why it was for the best. All a monster could do was hurt people, killed people. Even if you thought they were strong enough. Or you thought they’d be there forever. Or you wanted – needed – them to live more than you wanted to _breathe_ …all you were ever left with was regret for not being stronger. Sooner. Better.  


_Not. Good. Enough._  


His fist clenched around his polearm. Ashe didn’t _get_ it. It was so easy to die. She knew how to fight, and how to stay alive, but dying was so, so much easier than killing.  


“They keep saying…that you hurt people because you were hurt. You lost someone. _But I’ve lost people too._ ” Gregor’s breath started coming quicker and more shallow at the rush of old memories. “But you’re not _allowed_ to lash out.” Grandpappy and his parents. “And you’re not _allowed_ to come back and be forgiven.” _Vestis groaning after a hard day, ‘Never get old, kid.’_ “Hurts like that _stay_. And mistakes like that _stay_ and they _stay,_ and _you_ stay, and there’s no _magic_ to change that.”  


Gregor’s voice wavered, just slightly, and he bit his lip, hard. This was the problem. This monster, unlike the many that he had faced before, made him…uncalm. Angry. Frustrated. Scared? He hated feeling like this – thinking like this; there was a monster nearby and any mistake he made could lose him another family. Distantly, Gregor could taste blood from his lip and a tremor started in his hands, which was strange; he couldn’t remember the last time his hands shook like that. He tightened his grip on his polearm. Took a breath.  


And kept staring at it. Tension was still buzzing through his body.  


He wasn’t stupid. Charoth, then Legen’s Eye, Telvillian’s Tear. Ashe had already left them in Onorhant, almost for good, he knew. Even Markus had been mad at him. Gregor still knew that he’d been right, and he wouldn’t change his actions, but that didn’t matter. There were lots of ways to lose a family, and looking down at the creature in front of him, he knew that he was going to have to make a final decision.  


*  


Ashe came in late in the evening, cursing the snow powdering her hair, cursing that Charoth was still lost, and cursing herself for not finding him, but stopped short. There was Charoth, sitting contentedly at the bar. And then there was Gregor. At the furthest end of the room, turned away – not even acknowledging her entrance – but, his glaive was nowhere to be seen.


	2. Character A’s best friend(s) rig the Secret Santa, because they know Character A has a crush on Character B

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ashe's friends put together a winter gift exchange, with no tricky magic what-so-ever.

Ashe supposed that she shouldn’t be surprised. She knew that her friends loved an excuse to revel together and celebrate. The only mildly surprising part was that the idea came from Thog of all people.  


“Secret Sender,” Thog explained. Because some entrepreneuring fuck jumped on the copyright to the concept of Santa Clause (“Thog, we don’t say it enough, but Alaran is the worst”) the name was adjusted, but the concept was the same. “It’s part of a post-Tax Day survival celebration. And mostly it’s a way to cheaply give gifts in a group.  


Ashe suppressed a shiver at the reminder of the Tax Goat while Markus jumped in. “But! You also have the _intrigue_ of keeping your secret defended while you sleuth out your own sender.”  


Well, there’s two kinds of people.  


Everyone was looking at her, seemingly waiting on her approval. “Okay yeah, cool,” she said. “So, what, we’re doing that now? Drawing lots?”  


Ashe could _hear_ Inien roll her eyes behind her.  


“If you wanted our names to be really, properly randomized, it would only take a simple little spell but I figured-”  


“I don’t trust you.”  


“So we’ll do it like a simple human to make you feel better,” Inien continued smoothly. “No chance of any _tricky magic._ ”  


Before Ashe could properly form a retort, Gregor jumped from his stool. “I’m a simple human! I’ll to go first.”  


He wiggled his fingers for a moment before plunging his hand into Markus’ top hat ( _Where???_ ) and pulled out a small slip of paper. He read it with a big smile and sat back down. Immediately, Ashe could see why Markus would enjoy this. She already wanted to know who Gregor’s name was. She pressed her lips together to keep the question at bay.  


Next up went Thog, Inien, Kyr, Colvin, and then Markus himself. No one made eye contact with anyone else. Ashe was so focused on trying to read their expressions that she almost forgot to draw her own. Markus extended the hat in front of himself with a flourish, and she peeked inside.  


“Markus, hold on. Why are there two pieces left? Everyone else has gone?” Her voice turned up questioningly.  


A grin spread on Markus’ face and he said in a deliberately casual tone, “Oh, Firi’s name was put in here too, Ashe.”  


Her hand snapped back. “You didn’t say that.” Fuck, she didn’t mean to sound defensive, but Inien picked up on it right away. Because of course she did.  


“What’s wrong, Aesling?” Inien asked. “I thought you two were _friends._ ”  


“Shut up, Inien," and she reached down again. That was just a dumb reflex, it’s not as if _she_ would get Firi’s name, there was no reason to assume that, nearly everyone had gone already, she’ll just get one of her other friends, and that’s _fine_ , she wouldn’t know what to get Firi anyway-  


All of the color that had been creeping into her cheeks rushed away fast enough to leave Ashe dizzy. Her nose scrunched up in an attempt to keep her reaction from showing, but there was Firi’s name in Markus’ swirly, glittering penmanship.  


“Then this last one goes to Firi,” Markus shook the hat a little bit. “I’ll give it to her when she gets back.” He seemed satisfied by Ashe’s expression. Fucker.  


*  


The following week passed in relative quiet while everyone got their gifts ready. On some level, Ashe had honestly been expecting someone to cave. She thought that someone was going to let a detail slip or let a name come loose, but there was an uncharacteristic silence among her friends. Gregor gave her a cheerful “That would be cheating, Ashe!” Inien shook her head and wagged a finger condescendingly at her. Thog only gave her an immensely unimpressed look while he turned back to his work. Meanwhile, Ashe was at a complete loss for what to give Firi. What if she hated it? She’s too nice to say. And what if she doesn’t; what would she think Ashe means by it? What _did_ Ashe want to mean by it? What if she’s too busy overthinking it that she doesn’t get Firi a gift at all? She’d be so _disappointed._ What if-  


“Hey.” Someone nudged her shoulder. Kyr held out a mug. “Eggnog?”  


Ashe blinked back into focus and looked down at the…frothy…eggs? That sounded fake. She wrinkled her nose and set the mug down.  


“I don’t want to interrupt your ‘you time’, but you were kind of looking at the table like it was gonna eat you. Don’t worry, those modifications are still in their blueprint phase.” He grinned at her and Ashe felt just a little bit of tension ease out of her shoulders. Kyr was…he was very good. “Sooo. Do you wanna…talk about it?” He asked, rocking back on his heels.  


Ashe glanced around the bar, empty save for Charoth playing with some rocks. She sighed and shrugged toward the stool next to her.  


“I just feel so _stupid._ ” Ashe blurted in frustration. “I’ve been thinking about this secret gift sending thing, and I want it to be _so_ good, but the more I think about it the more I _can’t_ think. And then I’ll panic and actually do something stupid. And Kyr, you’re really good at making things. And you’re good at making people happy, but I? Have nothing.” Her voice trailed off and she muttered, mostly to herself, “Liking people shouldn’t be this hard.”  


“Aww, stop.” Kyr batted at her arm teasingly. “But I don’t think you’re stupid,” he said sincerely. “Remember that for years, when I tried to make people happy, I got things thrown at my head! But! That’s not the point! All I know how to do, really, is keep making things, and keep getting them thrown at my head, and keep looking stupid, just in case one day I find someone who needs something,” he shrugged his big shoulders. “Stupid. And we’re all friends anyway, right? So it doesn’t have to be perfect. Or even good, really. Just _something._ That’s probably not real advice about what to do but…I’m sure she’ll love whatever it is.” Kyr tapped the side of his nose.  


That got a small laugh out of Ashe. She thought it over for a moment.  


“So what you’re saying is,” He watched her expectantly. “Your advice is ‘it’s the thought that counts.’?”  


Kyr pouted. “Well, when you put it like _that_ -“ He was cut off by an abrupt hug.  


“Thanks.”  


*  


Tax Day passed with its usual quiet unease, but Markus the next day more than made up for it with his overflowing energy. For all that Ashe could tease him for running around like he was ten years old rather than thirty-five, she really did appreciate how much effort he was putting into this. Tables were cleared away, presents were stacked neatly near the window, an imp band was playing quiet music in the corner, and everything was draped in festive red.  


“Okay, everybody’s here.” Ashe’s own cheeks hurt in sympathy from how much Markus was smiling. He darted around the room carrying presents to each person “How it’s gonna go is, everyone’s going to take turns opening their present and guessing who their sender is, okay? I repeat. Do not. Open your present yet.”  


Across their loose circle, Ashe saw Firi beaming up at Markus as he handed her a small box, and she felt the butterflies in her stomach migrate up into her throat. She looked away and caught Inien’s eye instead.  


She raised an eyebrow and gave a big exaggerated breath. Right, sure. Ashe took her own present from Markus unthinkingly while she settled her nerves.  


Gift-giving passed uneventfully, in a nice sort of way. Between everybody teasing and shouting over each other, Ashe was able to forget some of her nerves. She loved her friends, of course, but it felt as though they were never all in one place unless there was some disaster happening. It was nice to watched everyone just share the space for a while.  


Inien got battle-bot tickets from Kyr, who got a thick engineering tomb from Colvin. Colvin then opened a cursed enchanted blanket that looked like the stars from Markus, who got fancy tea from Thog, who definitely did _not_ tear up from Gregor’s handmade “World’s Best Boss-Dad” sweater. Only as Gregor was picking up his box did something prickle at the back of her mind.  


Ashe saw on Inien leaning in toward Gregor to explain a zen garden (“It’s rocks. It’s supposed to be calming? Or something?”) and it all came into focus. The gifts had made a neat little loop, save for herself and Firi. Suddenly, everyone’s knowing looks at her made more sense; she didn’t know quite how (yet), but they set her up.  


“Well, it looks like some of the surprise is out of it for you two!” Markus piped up.  


“Yeah. Funny how that worked out.” Ashe sent a pointed look at Markus. He shrugged, almost apologetic.  


“I don’t mind!” Firi interjected, “Can I go first?”  


She looked expectantly at Ashe, and just like that everyone disappeared from her attention.  


The butterflies were back. “A-ah. Yeah- Yes, sure Firi. Go ahead,” she said. Firi’s present was in a small unadorned wooden box and she stared at it without saying anything. “So, yeah. You lost the surprise element of it. Not that it’s too surprising anyway. I mean, I carve things all the time, so it’s not even like it’s all that special. And you definitely don’t have to wear it. I mean obviously I’m not saying ‘don’t wear it,’ but just if you don’t want to. I just-” Ashe sucked in a breath. “I wanted you to have…something.”  


Firi pulled out a bracelet with several carefully carved little charms hanging off of it. “Oh.” Suddenly she was very close to Ashe. “Can you put it on?” Her eyes were bright.  


In a quick flash of panic, Ashe turned to her friends in her time of need, only to find them actually disappearing quietly out the door. Markus gave one final thumbs-up before closing the door behind him.  


Firi had her eyes only on Ashe, waiting expectantly, so she reached out and fastened the small metal clasp. Neither made any indication to move away while Firi’s eyes scanned the small charms and stars. One of them was Firi’s own symbol that held her cloak. Others were sigils and tokens from Meathe that she wouldn’t recognize.  


“What about this one,” Firi touched one, clearly the most intricate and carefully made. “What does this one mean?”  


_Just let yourself be stupid._  


“It means…ah. Well, what it _actually_ means is- It’s like when two things go together…and that lets them be…stronger? Than they were on their own? Not necessarily because they’re ‘meant’ to be or anything, but because they’ve fit and formed themselves like that. So it’s, you know, I thought that it’s like you and- What I’m trying to say is that, I really like you a lot, Firi.” Then everything all rushed out in one breath. “I think you are excellent and sweet and I’m really, really sorry if this is weird but I really wanted you to have something from me, but um, you can throw it back at my head if you don’t like it?” Her voice squeaked at the very end, but it was done.  


The whole time, Firi’s smile never wavered. “Ashe,” she took Ashe’s hand and the charms clinked gently. “I think you’re excellent also. And very kind, and thoughtful and brave. I like it very much, and I like you very much. I’d be happy to wear it.” She gently pressed a kiss into Ashe’s hand.  


Ashe let out an unsteady breath, not a laugh and not a sigh, but some overwhelming emotion that left her dumb and smiling like a fool. They just stayed like that hands held between them until the moment was broken by an excited _“Woop!”_ from the window.  


Ashe groaned and lifted up their still-clasped hands to cover her face but couldn’t help but laugh. There would be time for reprimands later, but she couldn’t quite bring herself to be mad with Firi still looking at her like Ashe had given the best gift in the world.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> them girls!  
> i'm so proud of the fishe content that thrilling intent has brought us since i wrote this last year :')


	3. Character A works as a Santa’s helper. Character B has a small sibling/child.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Based on mathes0n's au for dad!Thog and Harlock
> 
> Thog has very fixed ideas about how the world works. Harlock has different.

Shopping malls were universally and invariably nightmarish during the holiday season; tinny, repetitive Christmas songs playing over loud, keyed-up crowds. Thog grimaced as memories of his own past soul-crushing retail jobs threatened to resurface. Some things were better off forgotten.  


In addition, Thog also had a small, impatient traveling companion at his side. Speaking of, a sharp tug on this sleeve caught his attention.  


“Are we _done_?” Harlock frowned up at him. “We’ve been here for _two hours._ ”  


Thog didn’t bother checking his watch, Harlock tended to have a mind for details. It was hard to be frustrated with her when he was thinking the same thing, but still, he knew that _she_ knew the answer.  


“You know we’re not. I already told you we’re not. But we’re close, I promise.”  


She let out a devastated groan in response. “Why does it even matter, you don’t even _like_ the people you work with.”  


“You’re right, I don’t, but I do like my j-” But he cut himself off. It would be a stretch to say he " _liked_ " his job, and for the sake of his own peace of mind, he couldn’t bring himself to voice a lie like that. “It’s important anyway, sorry kid,” he said finally. If it weren’t, Thog would have gladly not come out at all, but as it was, the boss made it very clear that they would be both accepting and expecting ass-kissing during the holidays. It was just the way things were. Thog half-heartedly scanned the mall trying to find a store he hadn’t dragged Harlock through yet and then came across an alternative solution.  


“Harlock, why don’t you wait there while I finish up?” Thog pointed her toward a festively decorated “Santa’s Workshop” showing demonstrations outside a toy store.  


Harlock looked at the display and then back up at him with all the scorn available to an eighth-grader. Thog had to bite back a smile. 

“That’s _dumb,_ I’m not a little kid.” But even as she said that, he saw her eyes wander to where a “Santa’s Helper” began pulling out the newer robotics and gadgets.  


“I know you’re not, but unless you’d rather wait in another fifteen-minute line,” she gagged at him, “then this will give me a spot to find you after. I’ll be back as soon as I can, and I’ll even pick up some chocolate on my way.”  


At that, Harlock perked up; she had an incredible sweet tooth. Then, with an incredible show of consideration, she shrugged and made her way over toward the display.  


“Stay out of trouble, Harlock.”  


“See ya later, old man.”  


Thog waited a moment, just watching. She was trying so hard to play it cool, as thirteen-year-olds do. Hands in her pockets, circling around the different tables indifferently. Hopefully that would keep her occupied for the next few minutes.  


*  


One-rapid-fire circuit of the area later, Thog made his way back, gift finally purchased. It was some complicated, over-priced desktop sculpture. They were “the thing” for executive offices. He hated it immensely.  


Even from the display, Thog could pick out Harlock’s voice above the dull roar of the mall. Nothing smelled like fire, which can only mean good things, but it did look like Harlock had cornered one of the employees, though. Thog picked out stray words as he walked closer like “volt” and “acid-base reaction” and, to the worker’s ever-lasting credit, he seemed completely engaged.  


When Thog finally got a clear view, he almost wanted to laugh. The man did actually look like an elf, the Tolkien kind with long limbs and blond hair. He had a genuine-looking smile listening to this random kid talk his ear off about her science fair project that looked incongruous with the gaudy, artificial holiday decorations around him. Thog finally walked over to save the poor man.  


“…a 9-volt battery. Did you know that a lemon can make almost a whole volt of electricity?”  


“So, when life give you lemons, make weapons of mass destruction?”  


“Hey,” Thog tapped the back of Harlock’s head with the candy bar, breaking into the conversation. “See anything?”  


Harlock shrugged “Eh, you’re probably too old to understand it. Hey, can we get lemons on the way home?”  


“As long as you and your co-conspirator here let me in on your citrus anarchy.”  


Harlock looked positively affronted. “Thog, you’re so lame.” Now that the Adults were being embarrassing, she shuffled to the side to continue examining the robotic spider-looking toy in her hands, and Thog got a chance to properly look at co-conspirator in question. Markus, by his nametag. He really was attractive up close. Not that it mattered.  


“Markus Velafi. Anarchist with a day job.” He stuck his hand out with a grin.  


Thog floundered in his head briefly before extending his own. “Uh, Thog. Just a guy.”  


“Thog,” Markus repeated. “Neat name, Thog Just-A-Guy.” Thog’s hand hovered uncertainly when Markus released it.  


_No, stop that._ Thog reprimanded himself. There was no reason a half-hearted joke and a smile should be making him this stupid. He was getting distracted, and he had actually wanted to say something.  


“Yeah, listen, I just wanted to say…thanks. For, you know, talking with Harlock.” Thog said in an undertone. “Also sorry, probably, knowing her. But mostly thanks.” Harlock had some rough social skills, a bad time connecting with people. He knew that when he adopted her, and looking on it, maybe he wasn’t the most qualified to help her in that regard, but he was trying his best for her.  


“Oh! It’s really no problem. She’s smart. _Really_ smart. She’s a good kid, you’re doing a great job with her.”  


That was the same bullshit people said to everyone’s kid, but Thog took it to heart; that much he knew was true, even if it had nothing to do with him.  


“I hope so.”  


His tone must have caught Markus’ attention, because just for a second, he broke from his perfect retail-professional posture.  


“Hey, listen. I know this probably doesn’t count for much, coming from…” he gestured vaguely to encompass himself, his outfit, the entire mall in general “but I think she’s going to end up being incredible. You _are_ doing a good job.” It was absurd that someone could look so sincere in elf ears and hat, but there he was. He leaned back against the store’s glass window and sighed.  


“Yeah. Thanks.”  


Markus smiled again. He did that a lot, Thog noticed just from this short time talking with him. It made that warm, unwelcome feeling spread in his chest, and Thog abruptly straightened up, annoyed with himself. _Really, Thog?_ Five minutes and that’s all it took? Five minutes and he was basically _spilling_ out his problems; what was wrong with him? This wasn’t high school. And to some poor retail worker he had cornered?  


He could see Harlock watching them nearby. Thog had responsibilities.  


“Right. Well. Anyway, we should be going.”  


Markus blinked at the sudden shift. “Oh? …Oh.” He quickly rearranged his face back into his bland customer service expression. “Sure thing, of course. Safe driving, folks.”  


Harlock eyed him as he brushed past. “Yeah, bye Mark.”  


*  


She was quiet all the way back through the mall, across the parking lot, and into the car. Only after pulling out did Harlock say, “Thog, I know I said you were lame, but that was _really_ lame.”  


He glanced back at her in the mirror. “What are you talking about.“  


“Did you not like him? Because it looked like you liked him.”  


Thog bristled. “What? Who, the worker in there? Why would you even think that?”  


“You know what his name is.” Harlock scowled at him.  


Thog said nothing and she sighed.  


“You had this dumb look on your face the whole time,”  


“I didn’t-“  


“and you looked like you were gonna _die_ for a second when he held your hand,”  


“That wasn’t-“  


“and…you were smiling.” She said seriously. “You don’t do that a lot.”  


That made his heart twist in his chest. The last thing he needed was for Harlock to involve herself with his own sometimes tenacious mental health; she needed stability. Thog had too much to deal with between his job and raising Harlock to get tangled up in the life of some blonde he met at the mall.  


Thog sighed. “Yes, fine. He was nice.” Harlock scoffed at his lukewarm answer. She looked ready to protest so he continued on in a rush. “ _But_ you don’t talk to people like that at work. So. We’re both just going to go our separate ways, okay? That’s just the way things are.”  


She muttered something, “…always say that…” but pulled out her phone and the conversation dropped.  


Still, he should have known better than to be surprised when two days later he received a text message from an unknown number.

: : Hey this is marco? 

: : *Markus 

: : From the mall... 

: : Sorry if this is over-stepping boundaries but...harlock managed to steal my phone and add your number and also got my phone back to me. Somehow? 

: : She's very impressive. Honestly, you should be impressed 

Thog’s heart shot into his throat. He needed to have _words_ with Harlock, except Markus was _still typing._

: : Anyway...she also sent me a message that I should tell you when I'm off work 

Thog’s fingers sprinted over the keys to type out a half-panicked apology filled with “completely inappropriate” and “so incredibly sorry” but Markus typed faster.

: : So maybe i read the signals wrong when you basically ran away when I was talking to you? Tell me to get lost and I will but 

He froze, dead stop, watching the *typing…* icon.  


…  


…  


The message wasn’t earth-shattering. Thog even read it again, waiting for…something.  


Hearing the string of frantic swearing stop, Harlock tentatively peered around the corner.  


“Harlock.”  


“…How much trouble am I in.”  


“You are...” Thog closed his eyes. “Incredibly grounded. For many reasons. _But,_ ” he sighed heavily. “I will bring you back dessert from dinner.”  


A smile grew on her face, and she came into the room. “Dinner?”  


“You’re still grounded, don’t look so smug.” He told her seriously. “But yeah. Dinner.” Thog put an arm around her shoulders. “It’s not like he could possibly make my life more complicated than you do, kid.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yeah in what universe does Thog ever a) actually flirt with someone b) flirt with someone while they're at work because that's weird, that's a No  
> and Markus can't really do anything either because he's working so that's another No  
> as usual, it's all up to Harlock


	4. Character A is desperate to find a particular item (book/toy/etc.) as a present for someone, but it’s been sold out everywhere. Character B helps.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A tie-in with day 2 (Ashe and Firi)  
> Markus readies himself for the holiday season.

It should come as no surprise that Markus loved the holidays. Everyone was always just a little bit more cheerful, a little bit less snappish, and glitter was _finally_ an encouraged addition to the décor. And now, he even had people to celebrate it with. He could still remember his childhood of serving guests; it looked like so much fun to be on the other side, laughing and drinking surrounded by people. Which was why Markus was dedicated to making things _just right_ for his friends.  


Even if they didn’t have all the details of everyone’s experiences, it was generally understood that most of their friends didn’t have great relationships with either the holidays or the people associated with them, but this year would be better, Markus would make sure of it. Even now, at the top of the month, Markus was at the bar with journals crammed full of plans: what music the imps should play, what drinks to make, where to store the glitter...  


The sound of the door groaning open broke his concentration.  


“What nerd nonsense is this?” Inien plopped onto the stool next to him, scattering sheets.  


Markus straightened them automatically. There was a system. “This, dear Inien, is the making of a perfect holiday party.”  


At that, she looked curiously at the various bullet-point lists. She gave a small hum of approval but then, all at once, her face screwed up, “ _Gods,_ is that your shopping list?” Names covered a whole front of a page, including everyone they met in Onorhant as well as people she didn’t recognize. She reached over to snatch it and slapped the paper over. “It’s like you’ve never shopped for anyone before. Start over. Write down whoever you can’t avoid seeing in-person. Everyone else gets a card or can get fucked.”  


That wasn’t worded in quite the same way Markus would put it, but he played along and wrote down all of this friends on the Shrouded Isles.  


Inien leaned in and crossed out a few more names, leaving him with Ashe, Gregor, Thog, Kyr, herself, and Colvin.  


“Hey, Rat’s a friend!” Markus objected.  


“… _Right._ ” She looked skeptical. “He’s a work friend. He gets a card. What’s really important is that you get people that you _actually_ like something good.” She looked at him sternly “I don’t want some second-rate present because you were off buying Randy a new pair of socks.”  


Markus almost protested, _‘Randy’s got bad circulation, his feet get cold,’_ but he _may_ have been stretching himself too thin for that first list. He thanked her for her input, “Always appreciated,” and set down in earnest to find presents.  


Except, somehow, finding gifts for his close friends was proving harder than trying to get something for everyone. Most frustratingly, he was primarily hung up on one person. Markus had barely moved when Inien came in for her shift at the bar a few hours later, though the pile of papers had grown significantly.  


“…You okay.”  


“Ashe.”  


“Ashe?”  


Markus put his head in his hands. Ashe had been doing so much better lately, everyone could see that, and Markus really wanted this year to highlight that she had people who cared about her. He knew on some level that he was probably over-thinking things, but he usually thought of himself as a good friend! How could he not be able to think of _anything_ for her?  


He looked up. “What does Ashe like?”  


“Oh... Gifts. Listen, I was glad to help, but they aren’t _actually_ my area of-” Inien trailed off at Markus’ dejected expression and huffed. Friends were the worst. “Fine, whatever, put that look away. I don’t know. Ashe likes writing in her journal, she likes to drink, she likes to fight.” She thought for a moment “She likes Firi.”  


“Ooooh-” A flicker of an idea appeared in his mind and Inien snapped in front of his face a few times.  


“No. I know what you’re thinking, and you need to stop thinking it. Ashe would hate you meddling. She would probably punch you in the face, and everyone would sit back and watch because you _shouldn’t_ be meddling.”  


“But they’re _so close-_ ”  


“Markus. I’m telling you. This is something Ashe has to be a big girl about and take care of on her own. _Even if it takes them the rest of their natural lives…_ ” She grumbled the last bit.  


Markus deflated. “But what if… Okay so we can’t give Ashe Firi, obviously. But surely we can give Ashe the chance to get Firi _herself._ ”  


Inien frowned. “…Uh, sure, neat plan, how are you going to do it, though?” she raised an eyebrow, “We all know that, if given the choice, Ashe will try to hide. That’s this whole _thing._ I think she’s planning to get Firi socks or something lame like that.”  


“What are you so against socks for?” – _“They’re not a flirting gift, Markus! They’re a **dad** gift.” _– “But, yes. Agreed. Ashe is evasive. So we just need to take that choice away. Somehow. Committed to talking to Firi. Or doing something nice for Firi. Or just get her _really thinking_ about Firi.”  
__

____

“Sounds like a scheme. Luckily, we know someone well-trained in coercing employees.” Inien pulled Markus up and toward Thog’s desk.  


*  


The plan went off without a hitch. The first thing to do was to gather their friends to draw their _actual_ Secret Sender names among themselves before their staged performance. Then Inien shifted schedules to keep Firi busy for the day, so when they all gathered again, every one of them pulled out a slip of paper with Firi’s name on it. Including Ashe.  


Sweet, brave, Ashe. She rose to the occasion beautifully. Aside from some mild turbulence at the start, she not only made a genuinely beautiful gift for Firi, but even _talked_ to her about it. Markus was so proud of her, he could cry.  


“You look pleased,” Inien sat down next to him hours later. Ashe and Firi had gone off to talk on their own for a bit (much to the eyebrow waggling of everyone else), and now their friends were just enjoying the late-evening vibe.  


Markus sighed, contently. “A holiday miracle. Best gift I could’ve gotten. No offense, Thog!” he raised his voice slightly. He heard a vague noise is response. That was fine.  


Inien stared at him. “You’re so weird. You actually mean that, about your friends. This,” She waved her arm around the bar, “is what makes you happy.”  


He for a moment looked like he was going to play up the bravado, but thought better of it. Ashe and Firi were just walking in, and holding hands no less. Thog had Gregor’s fancy pile of rocks on the bar, Kyr and Colvin were in deep discussion.  


“…Yeah. I do. Of course I do. How could I not? You’re all mean… wait no. You _all mean_ the world and more to me, and I’d do anything for you. Best people I know.” He slumped against her. “I am also a _little_ bit intoxicated right now, but remind me tomorrow and I’ll tell you again.”  


“Gods, maybe the reason you’re so light is because you’re heart’s always fucking _bleeding._ ”  


Markus laughed out loud at that. When he quieted down, he gave her a knowing look. “Don’t go playing it so cool Miss… Little Miss. Helping-Me-Play-Matchmaker. You’re a softie at heart yourself.” He poked her shoulder.  


Inien socked him back hard enough to bruise, but he just laughed again, taking it. The evening was settling in nicely and Markus looked around at the bar, filled with warmth.  


Despite Inien’s protests, he knew that she knew that she was included in the family. And even if he would do anything for them, what tonight was really about was these seven _ridiculous_ people that could always be there for each other.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Inien is to Markus what Kyr is to Ashe. These poor fools care too much and sometimes you need a little help from your friends.


	5. Character A and Character B are co-workers, but they barely know each other. But they both have to work through the holidays.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alternate title: 'do you ever feel like we're the side characters?'

It was hard not to notice the absence of her friends. Somewhere over the course of the past year or so, Inien had grown accustomed to their noise and their company. Ashe, Markus, and Gregor were long gone on some (no doubt holiday-themed) adventure. Firi said something along the lines of ‘ghost-hunting.’ Colvin was visiting Onorhant for a few weeks. When Thog finally came in a few days ago and found to immediate threats to the bar for the first time in months, he clapped her on the shoulder, looked her squarely in the eyes, and said, “Don’t let it burn down. Don’t tell anyone where I am.” She hadn’t seen him since so…he was probably fine.  


But that left her alone with Kyr over the impromptu holiday. Granted Inien didn’t have anywhere else to be, but she hadn’t exactly been looking forward to a week with the explosive, perpetual noise-making machine that was Kyr Fiore.  


She certainly hadn’t been expecting the thick silence that fell over the bar instead.  


It wasn’t that she couldn’t handle silence – she could handle silence! And she could handle sharing space with a co-worker for a while. It was just strange, to be so braced for one thing and then get dropped into something else altogether, and the more she thought about it, the more it tickled at her brain. Inien couldn’t remember the last time Kyr was so _quiet._  


She didn’t notice at first. She took the time to do some thorough cleaning, organize the alcohol, fix broken pieces of the bar… But there were, in fact, a finite amount of things to do, and when that dried up, all that was left was the constant, quiet _whirr_ -ing from Kyr’s direction. He seemed to be working basically non-stop on some project or another, occasionally breaking off to scribble in a notebook or find some food for himself. She couldn’t tell if he was ignoring the increasingly claustrophobic atmosphere or if he was genuinely that immersed.  


Too restless to find something to read, she eventually started watching him work from the bar – or, as well as she could over his hunched shoulders at least. Inien knew about as much information about machines as she did about the man who made them (1. Loud), and even that was proving to be inconclusive. She was lacking any other distraction, so she was getting a little curious, so sue her.  


Kyr tightened a part of his machine and sparks flew angrily out. Inien started at the sound, even several feet away, but he carried on without a flinch. Inien jumped on the break in monotony anyway.  


“Hey-” she cleared her throat. “Hey, big guy. You good over there?”  


At her voice, Kyr did jump a little, “Oh! Hey, Inien. Yeah, I’m fine, don’t worry about me! This arm doesn’t feel much anymore,” he waved it reassuringly.  


Now turned away from his bench, Inien could see his current project. From here, it looked like it might be a part of that ferocious contraption he called a sword, and _that_ genuinely drew Inien’s attention. She’d been intrigued by her and Markus’ encounter with Blendo-Friendo, and she was fairly certain that this thing was a whole different beast. She saw it work only once before, but even without knowing the mechanics behind it, she was pretty sure it broke a few rules of physics. Or magic. And maybe some other rules she didn’t know about. (Kyr honestly reminded her of Colvin like that. Probably, on reflection, why she never tried to talk to him. Agents of chaos, the both of them.)  


Inien wandered forward to where Kyr dove immediately back into his work. Up close, she could hear the layers of sound coming from the sword, it’s low, low rumble, the rapid ticking from multiple gears, the steady _chug-chug-chug_ that sounded eerily like breathing, or a heartbeat. Inien let out a low whistle.  


Kyr jumped _again_ when he heard her next to him, and the sword revved angrily.  


“Inien!”  


“…Yeah?”  


He blinked owlishly at her. “Um. You spooked me. Did, uh, did you need something?” He straightened up in his chair and tried to straighten up the various bits of machinery. Like she was his professor coming to check his progress. Inien rolled her eyes. Stupid.  


She waved a hand at the seat next to him. “Can I…?”  


“Suuuuure…?” His voice squeaked up, frankly ridiculous for a man his size. Inien’s eye narrowed; that was a half-answer if she ever heard one.  


“No, try again. If I should get lost, tell me to get lost. I’m not your _boss._ ”  


“No, no! I mean, sure you can. You just usually- you never have before, so…” Kyr gave her a probing look, twirling a wrench in his hands distractedly.  


Sure, that was fair. Out of everyone, she’d made the least effort to talk to him, but she was a scholar at heart, and this thing made frankly no sense.  


“Well, I am now,” she said decisively and sat down-  


“Wait!”  


Inien froze, mid-sit. She looked, a little nervously, at the sword, waiting for something.  


“Sorry, you just- You’re wearing your nice wizard clothes today…” Kyr looked at her and seemed to consider something.  


Well so she was. “I mean, its fine. I can just go change if it’s that-”  


Kyr abruptly stood up and pulled off his cape, draping Inien in the heavy fabric. It was warm and smelled weird. She sneezed.  


He stared at her. “…Aww.”  


Inien glared, but she could tell the look was somewhat diminished by the cape. Completely threw off her image. “Fuck you. Show me how this demon machine works.” She adjusted the large shoulder plates and finally settled into the seat.  


Kyr’s face brightened excitedly. “Well actually! You’re joking, but the engine powering this is actually infused with some of Markus’ magic. And with _that_ , that’s why it…” and it was like opening a floodgate to the chatty Kyr she recognized. The room was now easily filled with a steady stream of explanation and theory while he moved his hands through the wires and gears like second nature. She started throwing him questions, some genuine, some blatantly inane, but he latched onto each one, enthusiastic and patient. It seemed so natural to him, talking, explaining, demonstrating, she eventually had to ask.  


“Kyr.”  


“Hmm?” he hummed pleasantly.  


“So…” she leaned forward onto the table to get a better read on his face. “Is there any particular reason you’ve been avoiding eye contact with me for the better part of this week?”  


Kyr’s big fingers faltered for a second and a wire zapped at him. “Ouch! Shoot…um. I haven’t _avoided_ you…” he snuck a glance at Inien’s unimpressed face. “I just figured you would want to be left alone? You’ve never seemed to like me all that much, and I didn’t want to have any more fireballs thrown at my head.” He scratched the back of his neck awkwardly.  


_Fireballs…?_ Inien shelved that topic for another time “So you were, what? Ignore me all week? No offense, but you’ve always struck me as kind of the dependent type.”  


Kyr’s face made a…weird expression. “Well…I mean maybe. But I _did_ also live here on my own for most of my life.”  


Did she know that? Inien must have heard that before, but she couldn’t remember; Kyr just looked like he belonged around people.  


“But does it bother you when Markus, Ashe, and Gregor go out on their adventures? And you’re left here?” she pressed. A thought in the back of her head warned her that she might be getting close to “too far, too much,” but the more he talked, the more there seemed to be.  


Kyr’s busy hands finally stopped.  


“Nah. I don’t mind not going with; a few days is nothing, really. I just- I just worry sometimes that it won’t be a few days, and they won’t come back. But…it’s not like I’d be much help even if I was there.” He had the traces of a smile on his face, thoughtful touched with a little self-deprecation.  


Inien thought about that while he went back to tinkering quietly. She didn’t know how he handled it…caring so much and so openly. She drummed her nails on the table.  


“I…I get that. Ever since I met them, I keep waiting for them to throw themselves at a cause that’s too big or too mean and they’ll get eaten alive. But it never happens.” Inien shook her head in disbelief. “Even when they’re hurt, or they’re separated, or it looks like every deck is stacked against them…they manage. And then they pull together, those _motherfuckers_ , and then they win. I don’t know what it is, but it feels like the universe is rooting for them. These reckless, big-hearted idiots who are too dumb to fail. “  


All at once she scoffed at herself. “I sound like _Colvin,_ ” she groaned into her hands. Disgusting.  


Now Kyr was thoughtful for a moment. “…I don’t know about the universe,” he said at last as he closed up the side of his engine, “but I think they’re really lucky to have you on their side to help them.”  


“They’ve got us.“ Then she faltered “You know, us and Thog and Firi and…whatever.” She went back to tapping on the table.  


With the final screw tightened, the sword in front of them revved to life. Kyr listened and looked satisfied, nodding to himself. “Mm hmm, very good. Sounds nice…”  


It sounded like a monstrous cat. Inien reached out impulsively and poked it.  


Kyr chocked out half a warning, then stopped. “Hey-! Oh. Hey, look at that,” The sword rumbled warmly. “I think it likes you!”  


“Hmm…” Inien leaned back in her chair while he grinned down at her with his bright, expressive eyes. He could probably explain this machine for the rest of the week and she still wouldn’t understand the half of it, but she thought she might be seeing how things came together here.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> looking over this now, it feels very reminiscent of Inien's talk with Harlock toward the beginning of A Storm which is kind of cool
> 
> of all the chapters from last year, this one changed the most


	6. Character A and Character B meet in the ER on Christmas Eve.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the TI crew's habit of adopting people on sight continues  
> ft. minimum wage worker Eilin

Zalvetta spit out a mouthful of blood before stepping into the clinic. He had known he was being baited even as Xin’s stupid friends were spouting taunts but…

He supposed there was no good reason for it, really. It was more than a temper; Zalvetta just sometimes got this awful, itchy, _impulsive_ feeling all over his body and under his skin that made consequences blur and fade. But he was at least usually smart enough to fight outside of Xin’s bar. Now, in addition to the black eye he got from being cornered, he’d have to deal with Xin who would be _less than pleased_ with the trouble. He could already the smooth, _condescending_ resignation in his voice.

_“Now Zalvetta. You know that I have only allowed you to stay here as long as you respect my patrons. I don’t have to remind you that it is, in fact, illegal to allow a minor such as yourself into my club, let alone essentially house such a youth.”_

Whatever. He was barely there as is; he didn’t need Xin’s stupid mind games. Eilin should be at the desk tonight. She could probably get him some painkillers, and she was usually pretty cool about letting him sleep in the waiting area. Otherwise he’d need to find somewhere else to spend Christmas Eve until Xin _found it within himself_ to forgive Zalvetta.

He shoved through the door and, yes, there was Eilin, looking like she’d murder for a coffee. She raised an eyebrow at his entrance.

“What’s this? A spectre of Christmas-Yet-To-Come?” she remarked flatly. “You look like shit, Zal.”

“Wow, your concern is really touching. Healing words. It’s a wonder you haven’t been fired yet.”

She sneered at him and he flipped a finger back, all old routine by now. Eilin was no fan of Xin herself, and she didn’t ask too many questions about his unexplained visits. Zalvetta appreciated her deadpan tolerance for his bullshit, and in return, he filled her in on any interesting news from the neighborhood; she loved petty drama. Just the other day, some eyepatch-wearing rando ran up to Xin outside the club, called him a snake, and damn near punched his face in. Zalvetta had been laughing for days, and Xin insisted that he never saw the guy before. It seemed that Xin’s reputation preceded him.

Eilin said she wanted to give Eye-Patch a medal. Then she added, “Assuming you’re not here just for my personality,” Zalvetta rolled his eyes. “It’s actually been a pretty slow night. There’s just one getting patched up in there now, so give the guys in back a half hour to clean up then and you can have a cot for the night. I mean, it beats sleeping in the chairs out there at least.” Her voice held no inflection, and to the untrained ear it wouldn’t even sound like a real offer, but from what Zalvetta had gathered over his visits, Eilin had been a “troubled youth” herself some years ago.

“Aw, look at you. I’m all warm inside.”

“Consider it a Christmas present to myself if it keeps you out of sight.”

Zalvetta didn’t push it any further, lest she take the offer away, and went back into the waiting area and listened to the sappy Christmas movie on the staticky tv set. Eilin’s desk was in direct line for a draft from the door, but asking her to turn up the heat always gets the same response, _“If I had the power to do that, I’d be making more than minimum wage,”_ aka: the bosses were too cheap to properly heat the whole building. Still, it was better than being outside, and a cot in back sounded more appealing still. It was only eleven o’clock, he could wait.

The movie protagonists were just starting their slow, convoluted love-plot when the other client came out of the back. Zalvetta shifted in his seat fast enough to make him wince – there were a few bruises around his body that were starting to appear– and flicked up his hood. The last thing he needed was to be stuck with a bunch of nosy questions for the next thirty minutes.

“That’s everything! You have an _excellent_ night.” Eilin said with a saccharine smile. Apparently some people had complained to her supervisors about her “inhospitable attitude”. If he was being honest, Zalvetta thought this was no improvement.

The responding voice was cheerful though. “You too! Do you mind if I wait for my ride out there?”

“It _is_ a waiting room. You go _right ahead._ ”

“Thank you.” It sounded absurdly genuine. Zalvetta made the mistake of glancing up to raise an eyebrow at Eilin, but instead met a pair of wide brown eyes.

Shit shit _fuck_ -

“Hi. Gregor Hartway.”

“…Zalvetta.” he said shortly. That seemed to be taken as an invitation and the guy, Gregor, sat down next to him.

“Are you waiting to go back there?” He nodded toward the back of the hall he had just come out of.

“No,” he said shortly. This guy was already giving off a real Horaven type of vibe: well-meaning and intrusive. Zalvetta kept his hood low and braced himself for a stream of questions, but…

Gregor just replied, “Oh, okay,” and sat contentedly.

Hm. Well, Zalvetta was more than willing to let it rest there.

For about ten minutes until his curiosity got the better of him. Impulse control.

He started sneaking glances at Gregor from the corner of his eye; he just wanted to get a look at him in case he ever ran into him again. He was young, not much older, if at all, than Zalvetta. A small, calm smile rested on his face, despite the clear bruises _also_ on his face. Sitting perfectly still in comparison to Zalvetta’s incessant fidgeting. Dressed in what looked like a warm red jacket…

A chill ran through him in the dingy waiting room. _Damn_ , he wasn’t made for this weather, and he certainly wasn’t dressed for it in his thin hoodie. Gregor seemed to have heard him, or felt him, or _something_ , because he suddenly turned intently to Zalvetta.

“Are you cold?”

Zalvetta barely had time to mutter out something like “…bad circulation…” before Gregor stripped off that red jacket and held it out.

_Whoa, whoa, hold on-_

“Here! You can borrow this.”

Zalvetta bristled like he was holding a snake and turned to face Gregor fully for the first time. “That’s…I don’t- I’m _not-_ … Keep it," he faltered over his words.

“You need it though. I’m fine, I’m warm-blooded.” He grinned widely.

Zalvetta’s heart did _not_ skip a beat. That would be incredibly gay, even for him. But Gregor looked perfectly willing to sit there with his jacket outstretched the whole night if need be, so he finally reached out and took it. “…Just until you leave,” he said in an attempt at being firm.

Gregor looked pleased. What a weirdo, honestly. Zalvetta turned back away and slouched further into the seat. Up close, Zalvetta could now see that it was very well-worn, covered in several patches and stitches. It made him wonder about the stories behind them.

“Ah- shit. I think I got a little bit of blood on the sleeve, actually,” He looked over, gauging if he should give it back. Despite his reluctance to take it, he did feel better with it on.

“Oh that’s alright, I’m used to getting blood out of it,” Gregor replied with absolutely no follow-up.

...Well alright, then.

Zalvetta bit his tongue. If he didn’t want any prying question then he couldn’t ask them. Of course, he _also_ didn’t drop cryptic sentences like that on _strangers,_ of course, but sure. Whatever. That wasn’t his business.

“Right…okay. Just let me know when you’re…whoever is here for you,” he muttered.

Gregor kicked his feet a little. “Where are you going to go, then?”

“Stay here.”

Gregor nodded like he’d been expecting that and lapsed back into silence. Finally warm and with the familiar background noise of the clinic, Zalvetta was finally able to ignore his various growing aches for a bit and doze off.

It couldn’t have been five minutes later, however, than a _storm_ of noise came bursting in through the doors.

_“Gregor?”_

Eilin sighed and pointed to the room immediately adjacent. Disjointed _“Thank you”s_ were thrown out and the storm drew closer. Suddenly, the room was filled with bodies and chatter.

“Gregor!”

“…you alright…?”

“…didn’t come to the party…”

“… _fought someone_ …?”

“…still waiting at home…”

Gregor smiled up at the mass. “Guys, you didn’t all have to come.”

“That’s what Inien said, too. Note her absence,” the tall blond said.

“But hey! You weren’t waiting alone, who’s your friend?” asked the big red-head behind him. Several pairs of eyes all suddenly turned. Surrounded by adults all looking down at him, Zalvetta had a brief, unwelcome flashback to his times in the school principal’s office.

“Oh, this is Zalvetta. He’s coming home with us!”

Sorry, _what?_

Zalvetta stared first at Gregor (who was ignoring him completely, what the _fuck_ ), and then at everyone else. There was a surprising…lack of surprise. One by one, they also turned away from Zalvetta toward a guy standing a little ways to the side. Dull dark hair. Dull dark eyes. Evidently, he had the final say.

He couldn’t believe this. _Obviously_ they weren’t going to take some strange kid back to their home. Not Zalvetta, with raccoon circles under his eyes and twitchy fingers and stained black hoodie. People didn’t drag “Trouble” into their lives. But he stubbornly held that dead fish gaze; he’d be goddamned if he let them-

The guy shrugged. “Fuck, sure. Firi’s over, though, so you’re finding out where he’s sleeping.”

And like it was just that simple, the noise was switched back on. Introductions were thrown out in quick succession as Zalvetta was swept up in a bizarre assortment of conversations (The swamp monster is real, and she’s my girlfriend.”) Feeling something like whiplash and half-wondering if he’d just been adopted by a cult, he cast one last look at Eilin, who had not just one, but both eyebrows raised. She would call someone if he went missing, right?

In the parking lot, Gregor finally seemed to notice Zalvetta slipping out from the group and trailing several feet behind.

“… _Are_ you coming?” he asked, looking uncertain for the first time. “You don’t actually have to, and you don’t have to stay. You just looked like you could use somewhere to be.”

Zalvetta didn’t answer, just shuffled a bit. Gregor’s shoulders dropped slightly, but he nodded.

“Okay. Well, you can keep the jacket though! I know what you said, but it’s supposed to be cold, maybe even snow, and-” Cloth hit Gregor’s face, cutting him off. He looked up in surprise until he saw Zalvetta climbing into the (frankly hideous) minivan.

He couldn’t say he wasn’t, on some level, _incredibly_ off-put by these people’s freakish hospitality, but it sounded like food and a warm place to stay, at least for a little while. And if anyone saw his face heat up when Gregor pulled the jacket back over Zalvetta, then he could just blame the Christmas lights passing by.


	7. Character A can’t wrap gifts to save their life. Character B is their neighbor and can help.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thog pretends he doesn't have a heart

If Thog hadn’t stupidly spent money on expensive wrapping paper, he would have given up. Called it quits and bought a gift bag. And if he hadn’t already gone through almost a full roll on a single present, he probably wouldn’t have considered giving up in the first place. 

Growling to himself, he gathered up the scraps of paper, either too small or crooked or wrinkled or creased at odd angles, and God knows what his sister would say at a sub-par gift. 

_“Oh. Well, this is very adequate, Thog. Thank you.”_

God, he hated that tone. 

Karen was someone who put a lot of emphasis on the details of things, their appearance. Thog himself was significantly more utilitarian (though they did share the ruthless focus. Family trait.) He couldn’t articulate why exactly her opinion meant so much, except that she was the only family he kept even semi-regular contact with. So, when she mentioned being in his area over Christmas, he invited her over for dinner and…well, he hardly even wanted to admit it to himself, but he didn’t want his little sister to be disappointed in him. He wanted them to relax, eat, and maybe bitch about old times without her trying to figure out if her brother was making it okay since he left the family business. And if a well-wrapped gift could help him put up that front, then he was going to give her a well-fucking-wrapped gift. 

Or try to. 

Thog stepped out of his apartment to dump his armful of paper and almost ran into someone coming out of theirs. 

Temper grown drastically short in the last hour, Thog was about to snap at whoever hadn’t been watching where they were going (besides himself), but all he saw was thin air. A face popped up a moment later holding a few fallen pieces from his pile. 

"Sorry about that! Are you alright?” 

Oh, it was… 

That kid. From next door. 

His name escaped him, mostly because the guy lived like a ghost. As far as Thog could tell, he lived alone; there was never any sound from his wall, no noisy pets or guests. He went out early every morning in exercise clothes the same time Thog was leaving for work, and that was about the extent of their familiarity. 

All in all, a perfect neighbor, really. 

“Need any help with that?” he offered his arms out to take some of Thog’s load. He shrugged indifferently and the kid took some off the top. 

“This is a lot of wrapping paper. Did you get presents?” His eyes lit up a little, making Thog really notice how young this kid was. Thog would say he had to be old enough to rent, but Thog was familiar with the level of screening the landlords used. For all Thog knew, he could be as young as sixteen. 

“Nah,” he grunted vaguely. “Trying to wrap one.” 

“ _Oh,_ ” the kid looked at the paper with new-found appreciation. “It looks like you’ve been trying really hard. I could help you, if you want!” 

Thog gave him credit for the complete lack of condescension in his voice. He actually considered it while they walked down the hall. 

“Are you any good?” 

“I don’t know, I never had someone to wrap a present for before! But I am good with my hands. I can ever knit,” he added. 

_Well, it's not as if the wrapping could go any worse than it already was,_ he thought, dumping the scraps into a large trash bin. And he was looking so expectantly at Thog. He sighed and waved him along. 

“Sure, give it a shot.” 

He beamed and trotted after Thog. 

There wasn’t much in the way of furnishings in Thog’s apartment. A small sofa, a chair, desk with a light. A handful of generic pictures and trinkets collected over the years were interspersed with an occasional certification on the walls. The offending present was currently on a secondhand rug in the middle of the floor. Nevertheless, the kid looked around with a smile and said, “I like your apartment, Mr. Thog!” 

“Uh. Thanks." 

The kid – he supposed it really was too late to ask his name now – sat down and looked over the gift box with deep consideration. It was a relaxation basket or sorts, with things like nice lotion and bubble bath and a tea that Karen liked. He had first considered it as a joke (which probably would have gone over Karen’s head anyway), but the more he thought, the more he genuinely felt she could use it. Constant stress was no way to live, he knew that first-hand. 

And speaking of relaxation… 

“Hey. Are you old enough to…?” Thog pulled out a glass and a bottle. 

He pulled an absolutely _offended_ face. “That’s _poison,_ ” he said, which didn’t exactly answer his question, but Thog just poured the one for himself. 

“Was all that paper for this?" 

“Uh-huh.” 

“Who’s this for?” 

“Sister." 

“Oh, neat. I don’t really have a sister. I do have a hermit crab, though.” 

“Probably just as talkative as her, then,” Thog remarked. Admittedly, a very poor joke, but it earned a smile, if that counted for anything. 

“Are you going to visit her?” 

“Nah, she’s coming here. It’s actually been a while since we’ve seen each other.” 

“That’s really cool! Does she work really far away?” 

“I guess. Hard to find the time.” 

“You keep really busy!” 

And on it went while the kid cut, creased, and taped edges together with quick efficiency. There was no reason for Thog to share this except for the sincere curiosity the questions were asked with. He just soaked in every bit of information about Thog’s boring life like a happy sponge. 

“But what about you?” Thog asked finally. 

“Hmmmm?” Folding paper was suddenly taking a lot more attention. 

“Are you…doing anything? For the holidays?” 

“Oh. Nope! Just me!” 

_That’s fine. Don’t push it-_

“Really? No family? Friends?” 

_Dammit, Thog._

“No, there’s no one. It’s fine though, I don’t mind.” 

“Yeah, I get it. Sometimes you’re just not on good terms with your family-“ 

“Oh look! You’re present’s all wrapped. Here you go I hope it’s alright have fun with your sister seeyoulaterMisterThog-” He jumped up, pushed the present into Thog’s hands and disappeared. 

Thog watched the door close. That was...probably very stupid of him. More stupid than he liked to think of himself. He didn’t even know why he cared enough to push it, family of all things, as if he didn’t know what it was like to have a touchy subject like that. Fuck. Whatever, this was why he didn’t talk to people. 

He looked down at the gift, exactly what he asked for. It was fine. Perfect. And he wouldn’t even have to pay the kid or whatever. Thog set the present down firmly on his desk and pulled out paperwork to finish and ignored the familiar, suddenly tangible silence. 

* 

They continued to pass each other every morning in the days leading up to Christmas, and the kid continued to wave, “Good morning, Mr. Thog!” and seemingly nothing had happened. And yet, when Karen arrived one week later, the interaction was still hanging in the back of Thog’s mind. 

The taxi pulled up in a downpour of miserable rain, with her looking more put together after a two-hour flight and an hour car ride than Thog did after a day at home, but he’d come to expect that. They greeted each other with a brief “Karen,” “Thog,” before he led her inside. 

Dinner was set, the present was by her plate, and after a year of communication silence, the siblings finally sat down across from each other. The weather...certainly _was_ dreary. This apartment was nice. Thog’s work was going well. Karen just got promoted. Yes, their parents were still bitter about Thog leaving. No, there wasn’t "anyone in Thog’s life," _Karen._

By the time Thog was clearing away their plates, they were both considerably more at ease. Karen finally gestured to the gift beside her. 

“May I?” 

He waved to it as a _“Go ahead.”_

Before even unwrapping it, she picked it up with a small smile. “It looks very nice,” she noted. “I hope you don’t take offence to my saying that I’m surprised.” Thog snorted. “No, yeah. It’s because I didn’t wrap it. Got the kid from next door to do it.” 

“Oh?” Karen was looking at him intently. 

“Yeah. He passed by and I guess he didn’t have anything to do.” Karen continued to watch him, and Thog felt his defenses come up. What was that look for? “I mean, he asked and I figured I could-” 

“So.” Karen interrupted. “Where is he then?” 

“Sorry, what?” 

“Where is he? This boy?” Karen repeated, like it should be obvious, then sighed at his unchanged expression. “Thog, I know you better than that. Please know that I mean this with affection, maybe even admiration, but I have never known you to not pick up lost causes and..." she paused for the right word. "…strays. So, if there’s a boy that you went out of your way to help-“ 

“Hold on, _he_ offered to help-“ 

“-then I can’t imagine any reason that you also left him alone on Christmas Day…” 

Thog scowled at her. Aside from being none of her business, who was she to be calling him _soft-_

“Next door, you said?” Karen stood up and started toward the door. Thog jumped up after her. 

“Karen, what the fuck, stop-“ 

_*Knock knock.*_

“Karen, you entitled micromanaging b-“ 

The door opened almost immediately. 

“Hello. My name is Karen Wells, and I believe that you met my brother, Thog,” she introduced herself politely. “I’m sorry I didn’t catch your name, but _we_ were hoping that you would join us for dinner this evening.” 

Thog felt his face go blank and he raised a hand in an almost-wave. “Uhhh, hey kid.” 

He looked between Thog and his sister, and a sunny smile broke out over his face. “Hi Karen, my name’s Gregor Hartway, I’m Mr. Thog’s neighbor. Did you like your present?” 

“You know,” Karen looked back at Thog. “We were just about to receive it.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> watch as these two do the impossible: form a bond without once displaying an honest emotion! incredible!
> 
> Karen at Thog's neighbor: Is This My New Brother?


	8. Character A’s ex will be at the Christmas Party A is attending. Character B poses as A’s fiance.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just a gal helpin out her pal.

It was nice when their group got to relax. Adventuring was fun, but Ashe’s favorite days were right after a good job, when everyone took a few days to unwind and take it easy.

But of course, there were always people who had stayed behind, and they were always bursting with energy when the group returned.

Today, Inien happened to be that person.

Ashe was just pouring herself a drink when Inien appeared behind her and snagged the glass out of her hand, downing it in one quick gulp.

“Hey!” Ashe whipped her head around. There wasn’t a lot of heat in her voice, she and Inien had been pretty cool lately. But still. Her drink.

“Yeah, hey. So listen I was thinking,” Inien leaned against the bar, tapping the glass on the bar distractedly. “Runecarver’s guild is hosting this get-together. A party. Yearly thing, a real who’s-who event to mingle, drink, network, et cetera et cetera. I, of course, was invited. Normally, this wouldn’t be a problem, and I wouldn’t even bother _going_ , except I know my piece of shit ex is going to be there.”

She broke off her tirade to adopt a mocking tone. “‘Inien, you’re so mean,’ ‘Oh Inien, you never listen to me,’ ‘You’re going to end up alone if you don’t care about people’s emotions, Inien,’” she scoffed. “So whatever, fuck ‘em, but now I need to go and I need to go _big_. Something that’ll shut them up.”

“How does the guild know where you are…” Ashe wondered about the mysterious “post” on their island. Inien snapped her fingers in front of Ashe’s face a few times.

“Focus. Listen. My point is that I need a date,” she said meaningfully.

“…Like, a fake date? Wouldn’t that just prove their point?”

“ _Ashe,_ ” Inien looked frustrated, like she was missing the point on purpose. She took a deep breath. “Okay, first of all: I don’t care! I just can’t let them get the satisfaction of _knowing that._ And _second of all,_ ” she leaned forward intently. “I’m asking _you_ to be my date.”

Ashe opened her mouth to respond but choked on air, and spent a full minute coughing before she rasped out, “What?” Her words suddenly rang oddly in her mind.

Inien’s mouth twisted up, like she wasn’t sure if she should laugh or be offended. “Alright, let me first just say, wow. Smooth. Definitely made the right choice here,” she rolled her eyes. “But listen, I thought this through, do want me to explain myself?” she asked, and then began ticking off her fingers. “You’re inept enough to know to follow my lead, but too proud to let yourself be completely helpless; I can trust you to manage yourself. You’re definitely not going to show me up, but you can probably clean up nicely if you ever brush your goddamn _hair_. Basically, you’re just what I’m looking for,” she said and nodded to herself.

Ashe felt warm and weirdly off-balance. There was no reason to, though. Sure, it was a “date”, but not, like, a _date-date_. More like a job, and it sounded like a fun one at that. Easy! So it didn’t make sense that when Ashe opened her mouth to respond, she immediately started falling over her words to excuse herself.

“Um. Inien. Look, I get it, you want to show up your ex-“

“ _Oh-kay_ …don’t feel like you have to force yourself-” Inien put in.

“I just don’t think I’d-”

“You can just say if you don’t-”

“And I just got back from that job…”

“But there _is_ an open bar…”

“You could even ask Markus-”

“Probably be a fight, you’d love that-“

“And I mean, we barely pass as friends, how would we pass as a _couple_?”

Their volume had been gradually rising in trying to speak over each other, and Ashe’s voice carried on the last word. The rest of the bar was silent with people pretending not to listen.

Inien pressed her lips together.

“Alright then, sure,” she said shortly. “Nevermind,” and she turned around and walked away.

…Hold on.

Ashe blinked watching her leave, and replayed the past minute back in her mind. She felt like she was missing something; normally that was Inien’s cue to say, “Fuck you Ashe, I’d be a phenomenal date,” and Ashe would probably say something to do with the fruit. Then Inien would either laugh or turn up her nose in disgust... But neither of them were known for just walking away. Ashe got that twisty, uncomfy feeling that she’d made a mistake. Maybe this was more important to Inien than she’d thought; it was really hard to tell with Inien sometimes, she always liked to keep things cool, but if it meant enough for her to ask for help…

“Inien, hold on,” Ashe reached out her hand. “Wait, shit. I’m sorry.”

She turned around and stared at her skeptically. “Don’t do me any favors, Ashe, if it would be that much trouble.” Her tone was still sharp.

“Seriously,” Ashe insisted. “I want to go with you. Take me to your shitty party to see your shitty ex.” This was what friends do, right?

There was a beat of silence where Ashe could see Inien visibly weighing her pride.

“…It’ll be snobby as hell. You’ll hate it; there’s a reason I never go.”

“But you said ‘open bar?’”

A small grin appeared on Inien’s face. “I did,” and she snorted at the convolutedness of it all. “Alright, then. I guess I’ll _allow_ you to come along. You’d better rest up, we leave tomorrow.”

“Right- Wait, _tomorrow_?”

“Too late to change your mind! Good night, Ashe! Glad you could come.” she called cheerfully and disappeared out the door.

“Unbelievable.” Ashe sat down at the bar and poured herself another drink. There went her relaxation. “…Hey Markus? Can you help me with something?”

*

Ashe peered at her reflection behind the bar the following afternoon and realized that she had been expecting worse somehow, though in hindsight, that probably wasn’t fair to Markus, or his imps. In just that evening and the following morning, they managed to not only tame her dandelion hair, but also present a reasonable outfit to wear. Experience taught her not to question why or where he kept clothing ready-made in their friends’ sizes, so she simply accepted the gift.

A knock at the door drew her attention, and those weird nerves were back, but now mixed with a little bit of excitement. She’d never really been to a party, but so far it sounded like Wizard High School, but more fun and drinking and less introspective hell.

“Knock knock,” Inien strolled in wearing black backless dress. “I would have brought you flowers, but, you know, I didn’t.”

Ashe turned around.

“Oh. Wow.”

Inien stood and admired the novelty for a moment. “You know, for some reason I was expecting you to wear what you always wear.”

“Oh… Sorry?” Ashe looked down at herself. “Is this…?”

“No! Gods know this is an improvement.” Plaid waistcoat and pants in a dark turquoise rather than her signature green, with lines of gold thread. Plain white button-down that felt weirdly constricting around her usually free arms. “And anyway, there’s no time for that, Cinderella, we’re on a schedule.”

“You know I don’t know who that is.”

Inien ignored her in favor of pulling out a piece of paper imprinted with a stylized _RSVP_.

“Inien. Hey. Are we going or…?”

She waved a hand over the back of the card and symbols appeared glowing bright.

“…Now hold on. Wait- _wait a minute-_ ”

Inien snatched up Ashe’s hand, “ _You_ hold on,” and everything shifted in a blur and the smell of burning plastic.

Even before she could see straight again, Ashe shoved Inien.

“Why the fuck wouldn’t you warn me?” she leaned over, trying to settle her roiling stomach.

“Wouldn’t have made it better. I know.” Inien said tersely. She closed her eyes and breathed deeply. “But, hey. Neat trick, right?”

Ashe cracked an eye open and saw a grand estate a short distance away with people mingling by the entrance. This was it.

“Neat trick,” she said weakly and stood up. “So now what?”

“Now, we go down there, listen to awful speeches, drink until we’re dizzy again, and have the best worst time of our…this evening.” Inien looped and arm through Ashe’s.

“Lead the way.”

*

“So, was I right or what?” Inien said a few hours later. Champagne flutes covered their table. “Is this not the shittiest party?”

Ashe considered it, watching the guests mill around the room. True, everyone seemed to know each other except her. And it was just as snobby as Inien predicted. And some of the speeches could put Colvin to shame. But Inien had stayed by her side throughout the whole night, sharing her scathing comments and weirdly specific knowledge about people’s personal habits. Yeah, it was an objectively awful party, but…

“I’m glad I was here with you.”

She looked more surprised than Ashe thought she had a right to be, considering the absolute _process_ it had taken for Ashe to come. Inien looked a little distance away contemplatively.

“Good. That’s good, I’m…” She sucked her lips in and _*popped.*_ Then, abruptly, “Come dance with me.”

“I don’t know how,” Ashe said automatically. When Inien’s expression didn’t waver, she added, “Really, all I can do is…shuffle around a little?”

“Perfect. Fancy people dancing doesn’t need to be any more than swaying to the rhythm. And I’ve got the rhythm if you bring the sway.” Inien took her hand.

Ashe gave a few more protests, but Inien’s grip strength was unbreakable. Fine. Swaying sounded…doable. Probably. She felt odd not knowing what to do with her hands – _“Ashe, I swear to the gods, you are useless sometimes,”_ – but while dancing on her own was nightmarish, this…this was okay. She wasn’t going to drown in this sea of people.

She still had to watch her feet to not step on Inien during their simple, rocking steps, but by the second song, Ashe glanced up. Inien looked deep in thought again.

That reminded her.

“So, where’s this ex supposed to be, anyway?” Ashe wondered. “Markus was coaching me all night on what to say when I saw them, and I think I’ve got it down!” She made her voice gravely and low. “‘Listen here, uh... _scumbag. My girl here’s a gift, and if you couldn’t see that-’_ ”

“Ashe,” Inien sounded exasperated. “No.”

“…No? I think I have another one here somewhere…” She reached into her pocket.

“No. Gods, no. Listen- okay first off no to whatever _that_ was. But really, Ashe. Do you think I would give an actual shit about what some ex says?”

That felt like a trick question. Ashe watched Inien’s expression, feeling increasingly like she was in some abstract puzzle. “… _No?_ ” She frowned. “But that’s stupid, why-”

Inien clapped her hands around Ashe’s cheeks, stopping their movement. “I was trying to _ask you out._ ”

The other dancers continued to shift around them.

For just the briefest moment, Ashe thought, _Of course. Yeah, we_ are _out,_ before she caught up.

A small, involuntary laugh escaped her lips. Instantly, Inien’s face went flat, and Ashe knew she only had about a minute before Inien walked off, but laughter came in earnest now. This whole situation only just making sense, and it was all so _ridiculous._

 __“__ Aww, Inien,” Ashe said at last. “Do you have a crush on me?”

Inien opened her mouth in outrage and snapped it shut. She was giving Ashe a hard, earnest glare, but something in the corners of her mouth suggested something softer. Ashe wondered absently when she got to read Inien so well.

If all of Markus’ novels were to be believed, there should be an overwhelming passion consuming her right about now, a burning, heady feeling overwhelming her sense, but Ashe just felt _nice_. This was nice. She grinned widely.

“You shut the fuck right up, or I will leave you here.” Inien threatened

“Sure, alright, sorry,” Despite everything, Inien definitely might. “I do have a question though?” Ashe looked around at their elaborate setting. “Why did you fake ask me out if this was all just going to end in you for-real asking me out?”

“Well, I think you’ll recall that I never actually called it a fake date-”

Ashe rolled her eyes.

“Okay, fine,” Inien blew out a raspberry. “Because if I asked you out for real, you would have gotten all defensive and weird? All, ‘Eat a dick, Inien,’ and ‘What is it you want?’ and ‘We’re barely friends anyway.’” She looked meaningfully at Ashe at that last one. “And you people call _me_ unapproachable.”

“Okay, fair… Sorry. Still, though. This was sort of ridiculous. Very...Markus”

Inien kicked Ashe’s shin. “First of all, how dare. Also, fuck you. And third, do you think you could plan a better date?”

Ashe kicked back. “You know what? I think I could.”

“Bullshit.”

“You know what? Watch me. Right now, new date.” Ashe was grinning again. “And I’ll even ask you out properly.” She straightened up and took Inien’s hand in her own. “Inien the Witch. Would you like to steal a bottle of wine from this very expensive party and walk through that probably-cursed hedge maze out back?”

An amused smile played on Inien’s face. “But what if I say no?”

_Stubborn. Contrary. Argumentative little-_

“Well then I guess the next date will be your pick again.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *John Mulaney voice* my wife's a bitch and I love her so much!


	9. Character A vows to do something nice for a stranger during the Christmas time. Character B is that stranger

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Markus feels lonely and goes about resolving it in the most convoluted way possible.  
> ft. as many different ways that I could misspell Ashe's name as possible

It all starts when he sees some poor girl get mowed over by a guy in a business suit. 

Although, Markus supposed, he could say that this big restless _something_ had been brewing in his chest for some time. He’d been on his own since he left his father’s home for school, and then he immediately moved to the big city following that, with some admittedly naïve expectations of glittering lights and fascinating people. Reality, as usual, fell a bit short of Markus’ dizzying sights. 

So the girl got knocked down. He, obviously, ran over to her to check if she’s alright, she muttered “Fuck off,” already walking away without so much as a glance up, and that was where Markus was at; standing in the middle of the sidewalk, hands still outstretched, snow dampening his hair. He vaguely saw her hunched shoulders duck into a nearby bar and before he even realized what he was doing, Markus followed after – to what? Ask for an apology? Apologize himself? He pushed open the splintery old door, still unclear of his own intentions. 

She was already at the counter with the owner. She pulled off her hat, releasing a poof of shockingly white hair. 

“ _Hey there, Aesling! I whipped up a fresh batch of the Ol’ Inny Special-_ ” As old as that man appeared, his voice certainly did carry. 

“Inny, no,” she responded with tense patience. “I can’t drink that. _No one_ can drink that. You really need to stop offering that before somebody goes _blind._ ” 

“ _Here ya go!_ ” A mug clattered down in front of her, and she looked at it with deep dismay. It’s smell…also carried. 

The girl sighed. “Okay. Thanks. Thank you, Inny.” She passed over the money for the drink and went behind the bar to dump it out, untouched. Frustration momentarily forgotten, Markus watched her continue around the bar: cleaning up some spills, gathering a few stray glasses, placing an extra chair in front of a semi-rotted hole in the wall… She didn’t seem to actually work there; Inny kept coming by and swatting her away from her work, chiding her. And each time, she replied, “Okay, Inny” and then continued to clean when he walked away, shaking her head to herself. 

Markus smiled softly, seating himself at a booth on the other side of the bar. It was sweet; she obviously seemed like someone with a carefully tough exterior, but she had a big ol’ soft spot. He couldn’t relate, himself, but it was sweet to see her try to walk that line. 

Lost in consideration, Markus didn’t realize someone was approaching until they were right next to him. 

“ _Hey there! How about the Ol’ Inny Special?_ ” 

Markus jumped at the sudden, piercing voice and looked up at the expressive old face of Inny. He thought of the dire warning he overheard. “Oh- uhh…not now, thank you,” Markus lowered his voice, hoping the old man would follow. 

“ _OK, I get it. Take your time._ ” Sure enough, he was…marginally quieter. 

“Actually, I was wondering if I could ask you a question?” Markus pitched his voice even softer. 

“Sure thing, sonny,” Inny’s voice was almost conversational. 

“What’s, um… What’s the name of that girl over by the bar?” Markus leaned in conspiratorially. 

“ _ **Oh, you mean Aesling?**_ ” His voice skyrocketed back up. He could see the girl’s head whipped around across the room, and Markus flew out of his seat. 

_Abort, abort._

He sputtered out, “Nevermind, thank you for your time, goodbye,” before scurrying out the door. 

* 

Back in his apartment, Markus laid stretch out on his couch with a fat tabby curled up on his stomach. 

“Hippocates,” Markus said quietly. “Am I just an idiot?” 

He thought of the girl’s (Ash…ley’s?) scowling face and felt these same nagging feelings inside him. That’s what he could never get about people. They could be so _good_ , clearly, but everyone seemed convinced on selling the image of being a callous asshole. If that’s what adult life was, Markus wasn’t buying it. 

And he didn’t have to buy it. Realistically, he knew that everyday people went about being perfectly decent to each other, but since he left his own small, enclosed world for the city, everything felt…dull. Distant. It all seemed so uniform. 

He looked out at the grayish tan building across from his window, monotonous shapes only broken by a single brave window circled with Christmas lights; the colorful, bulbous ones that reminded him of his childhood. 

For the first time in a long while, Markus let his thoughts wander back to his father. They hadn’t spoken in years, but he was always a stickler for tradition, and Markus was sure that even now, he could perfectly re-create the image of the house. A dusty and weathered wreath. Plastic tree in the corner. Christmas cards decorating the coffee table. And flowers on the mantle. 

Markus didn’t have long to know her, but he was told that his mother always loved the spring: the warmth and the color. So every Christmas, just as the cold weather was setting in for good, his father would buy her a small bouquet of flowers. A small gesture, available in most grocery stores for a couple dollars, but a thoughtful one. Even after she passed, his father would go out to buy a bouquet and bring them to the house. Just because. Just for a little bit of brightness… An unformed idea prickled at the back of his mind. So what if everyone he came across seemed to be miserable? Wasn’t that all the more reason for Markus Velafi to rise to the occasion? 

He sat up abruptly. Hippocates gave half a protest and trundled away. 

Maybe Markus _was_ an idiot. Maybe he was flashy and weird and was too comfortable making a fool of himself. But maybe…that’s what the Christmas spirit was all about. 

The next day, Markus retraced his steps from yesterday with a single rose in hand until he stood in front of _Ol’ Inny’s Bar and Restaurant._ Through the dirty window, Markus could see that it was more crowded than the previous day. He suddenly realized that he couldn’t see the girl. In his hastily-made plan, he hadn’t considered what to do if Ashlee just…wasn’t here. It made him a little anxious. He couldn’t why it was so important to see her; he just wanted to make _someone_ smile, dammit. Sighing, Markus pushed into the bar to get a better look. 

He only just wormed his way through a group of students when he heard a choke and a sputter from the bar. He looked up in time to see a man spit out a foul-colored drink all over the counter. The unfortunately familiar smell carried over to Markus, and he winced in sympathy. That drink was as…distinctive as the man who made it. He almost walked over to him – _That’s rough buddy_ – until the man slammed his mug down. 

“What the fuck you are serving here?” 

Inny just grinned from behind the bar, as guileless as he was toothless. " _Hey there! Can I get ya’ the Ol-_?" 

“Shut it. You can get me my _money back._ I should have this place reported, serving shit like this.” 

That, Markus reflected, was probably true. The girl said as much herself yesterday, and there was very little else in here that was up to code. But he didn’t particularly like seeing some day-drunk bully around a senile old man. 

Or, try to at least. Inny seemed oblivious to the man’s rising temper. " _Okay, you have a nice day, sonny!_ " 

“Listen, old man-” and leaned forward with unfocused anger. 

_Whoa, whoa whoa_ … Markus took a step forward, but a sudden clatter from the corner of the bar made him pause. Ashleigh was walking from the corner of the room with the chair pushed to the ground behind her. Striding forward with her shoulder back and her eyes blazing, Markus finally got a good look at her for the first time. She looked…stunning. Strong. And pissed as hell. 

“Do you have a problem?” she demanded clear over the noise of the bar. 

The guy vaguely turned his head before scoffing, “Leave it, girl.” 

“Hey shithead,” she took two quick steps and shoved the guy around to face her, “Do you have a _problem_?" 

Inny’s eyes became slightly more focused when she came into view. "Oh, hi Aesling!" 

She turned briefly to him in acknowledgement, “Inny.” Then she glanced down at the bar. 

“You. Clean this up. Right now.” 

The man turned slowly toward the small angry dandelion in front of him, a full head shorter. The cogs were clearly still turning over in his mind to decide how much trouble she was worth, but a nasty scowl started working over his face when she shoved a rag into his chest, pushing him back a step. 

“Listen bitch-“ 

“Bite me, _bitch,_ ” she snarled back. 

Markus drew in a quick breath. So she had a temper too. Excellent. Great, great, great. This would end well. Markus tried desperately to find a way to dissolve the situation. 

The cogs in the man’s head started turning a little faster and his fist began to clench. 

“I ain’t doing shit for this-“ he reached out to grab one of Inny’s shoulder and, fast as lightning, a fist shot forward and connected with his face. 

" _Touch him and your balls will be in your goddamn throat._ " 

Any pretense anyone had of not paying attention was abandoned, and there was the briefest moment while the bar held its collective breath. Then the man straightened up with furious, violent intent. 

Markus ran forward blindly, “No, stop, everybody just _wait-_ " 

Pain. 

Fierce and sudden and coming directly from his face. 

Markus folded like a deck of stupid cards and he could vaguely tell that people were shouting over the white noise in his head. He blinked. A couple of guys were pulled the other, presumably their friend, away. Nice of them to finally show up to the party. He blinked again and saw someone passing a finger in front of his eyes. It was her. Ashlea. She was frowning, almost angry, and it almost looked like she was wagging her finger back and forth to scold him. Funny…but then he blinked and didn’t get to tell her. 

Finally, he opened his eyes and was able to focus on what was around him. It felt late, and it looked like they’d moved him away into some side storage room, but that was the most he could tell laying down. 

He tentatively sat up and _yep_ , there was the pain. Markus groaned and cradled his face. 

“That was real stupid, you know that?” 

Markus turned and saw Ashlie. She looked impatient, like she’d been waiting on him to wake to tell him that. And okay, wow. “You know, that’s interesting to hear, considering…” he gestured at her. Considering she was going to fight someone twice her size. Hello kettle, the name’s pot. 

She glared at him, “That’s different.” 

“ _Is it?_ ” His voice pitched up incredulously. 

“It _is_ ,” she insisted. “Inny’s done a lot for me. He gave me a place to stay, watched out for me. Now I’m doing the same for him. I don’t like owing people.” She crossed her arms and looked at him pointedly. 

Markus rolled his eyes. That was probably a jab at him stepping into the fight – “her” fight – so he was going to ignore _that_ altogether. “Yeah, sure. You’re here out of nothing but obligation and you’re weird blood-debt. You’re allowed to say you care about someone, you know. You’ll still be tough. 

She immediately started to protest, but Inny chose that moment to walk in. 

_"Hey there, Aesling. Looks like someone cleaned up the bar already, so I’m going to bed,_ " he pecked the top of her head as he passed, " _Goodnight!_ " 

Markus watched, delighted, as a series of expressions flickered across her face, before sighing in defeat and muttering, “Night, Inny,” back. She sent a warning glare at Markus and he held up his hands. Far be it from him to intrude on this touching scene. 

“Still though,” she said, slightly calmer. “Lemme, I don’t know, buy you a drink at least. It was really unnecessary, because you obviously can’t fight for shit, and _incredibly_ dumb – what are you, a hundred pounds, tops? – but the gesture was…appreciated. It was nice. I guess.” 

Markus smiled, face stretching oddly around his swollen cheek. “You know what? I think I’ll take you up on that. It’s been one hell of a day.” He stood up. 

“And if you’re so inclined, I actually know a place right nearby-” 

She looked at him oddly. “What, you think _now_? No, sit down, I still need to make sure you’re not _concussed._ Are you always this impulsive?” 

“Excuse me, miss, I believe you pronounced ‘charismatic and heroic’ wrong.” 

She didn’t grace that with a response. Smart, this one. “Rain check on the drinks, yeah? For now, we’ll take things slow and get some ice on your face.” And she offered a wry smile before walking out of the room toward the bar. 

Markus stared after her for a half-beat longer, seeing her smile, before following after her, rose laying forgotten and untouched.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Maybe the real rose was the friends we made along th-


	10. Character A and Character B both sign up for a Christmas Pen Pal project to exchange postcards

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What odd company Rat keeps...

Rat has traveled for a long time. A very long time. He’s seen a great deal of the world, going here and there, collecting this and that. And wherever he goes, people always come to him with their secrets, their needs, their desires, _oh_ , their desires. It would be enough to make his skin crawl if he weren’t practically _trembling_ with cursed energy already. But who was he to stifle the creativity with which humanity wanted to destroy itself? 

So he makes his deals and trades, and then watches the display unfold. Everyone always thought they were so _novel_ in their schemes, but he knew every line of the story. Greed, revenge, lust, power…the characters were interchangeable. The only variations in the story were the artifacts they carried; that was where Rat’s interests lay. _People._ People were incredibly the same, but his items were always a unique puzzle for him to coax open in his nimble hands. He never had two curses or spells exactly alike. And Rat was a man of oddities. 

This was, perhaps, why he had become so fond of his little group of adventurers. 

Rat knew that he cultivated a particular… _unnerving_ sort of persona. Even the most magically inept could sense the curses _radiating_ off of him, and having seen as much of the world as he had, Rat had developed a certain type of gallows humor toward the human race that only unsettled people further. Even as they came to him, people hated the abnormal. Rat was distrusted on sight, and for good reason. 

So when he settled into the Shrouded Isles, recently purged of the monster-god surrounding it, he naturally assumed that he knew what to expect; a group of fool-hardy mercenaries looking for glory and money. They tended to be simple folk, not terribly difficult to find. 

Nor terribly difficult to convince, apparently. They seemed eager to jump on the first offer of a job they found, with few, if any, questions asked. So disorganized, and trying so hard to play professional. Rat smiled to himself as they hurried away, reflecting on what path they would take. There was, of course, a small chance that they would bring him his cards. Or perhaps they would simply take their payment and leave. Or, after gathering all of the cards, they may simply try to kill him if they returned. Any of these outcomes could be easily dealt with, and he had all the appropriate contingencies in place. 

What he hadn’t expected was for them to all cautiously shuffle into his shop a few days later, look around sheepishly for a moment, and then throw an ordinary deck of cards at him before running away like schoolchildren about to be reprimanded. 

They were…oddities. Minor ones, to be sure, but endearing. They amused him just enough to keep an ear toward gossiping crowds, not actively searching, but curious about what would come of them. Their enthusiasm was only matched by their inexperience, and it would be a shame for them to be killed so soon. 

Then, sure enough, they crossed paths in Onorhant. And again in his dungeon. And again in [In Development]. And each time, their eyes lit up in recognition, and they exclaimed, “Hey, it’s Rat!” as if he were an old friend. As if he weren’t purposefully and inherently distrustful. They certainly did _not_ trust him, that much was clear, but that didn’t seem to stop them from _liking_ him. Rat still wasn’t sure why their paths kept crossing as they did, but more and more it felt less like he was examining a group of curiosities, and more like they were adopting him in with their ranks. He would be suspicious if they weren’t all so charmingly naïve. 

They even had an…“inside joke?” Anytime someone (Rat) made mention of “ _cards,_ ” they all protested with varying levels of anger, fear, or threats of physical harm. How delightful! He never knew what they would do next. 

Rat was currently away from the Shrouded Isles – it was inadvisable for someone as _exceptionally cursed_ as himself to remain in one place for too long. He was in some back alley in Kuravia, and only distantly aware of the winter holiday decorations around him. Another human ritual he had seen in a hundred variations, but, for the first time in memory, Rat felt something distantly resembling nostalgia looking at the lights and cards and snow. Surely, he’d had a family once. There was none that he could remember, but at some point he must have. It was a directionless feeling now, however, and Rat brushed it aside as useless. If they ever had existed, they were long gone by now. There was no one, unless he counted… 

Hm. Again, his eyes wandered to one of the shops. Holiday…cards. 

* 

A huddle was formed in the middle of the Nine Shrines, around an enclosed envelope. The only indication of who sent it was the rat face stamped in the sealing wax and the aura radiating menacingly off of it. 

“Markus,” Ashe whispered nudging him. “You open it.” 

He bristled. “Why me?” His voice didn’t raise above a whisper either. 

“Rat likes you, he wouldn’t kill you,” she looked up. “…Right?” 

Markus waved a hand back and forth in an uncertain _‘ehhh’_ motion. 

They all turned back to the paper. 

… 

“Well someone’s got to move it,” Thog said. 

**“Move what?”** a harsh yell made them all jump. Thog swore the paper jumped too, but he was trying his best to ignore that. 

“Oh, hey Colvin,” Markus breathed, hand on his chest. “What’s up, buddy?” 

**“I was talking a walk around the Isles to make sure that sinister Ballast McGee was not attempting to get into the bar, when I saw everyone here in deep contemplation. Perhaps I can be of help,”** Colvin frowned down at the piece of paper. 

Ashe perked up, “Yeah, you can actually! Hey Colvin, would you mind-” 

“ _Ashe!_ ” Gregor chided. “I know what you’re thinking, but do you _know_?” Could she be sure that Colvin could withstand Rat’s curses. 

“If anyone can, it’s Colvin,” Markus said. 

“Exactly!” from Ashe. 

“Inien?” Thog turned to their resident Colvin-expert. 

She blew out a puff of air. “I don’t know. Probably? I know that Colvin can punch just about anything, but curses can be slippery. Also Rat's fucking weird.” 

“Exactly!” from Gregor. 

“Okay, but what if he punches the letter first? I’ve seen him punch alcohol out of a bottle, so he can probably manage-" 

“A curse isn’t a beverage, Markus.” 

“Okay, _Dan_ , if we need your magic expertise we’ll ask for it.” 

“ _Stop with the Dan shit-_ " 

“ _’To my dear friends at the Nine Shrine bar,’_ ” Colvin read. 

Silence. 

“ _’I hope you are all having an exceptional holiday season. Terribly sorry that I couldn’t be there in person, but I’m sure that we will cross paths again sooner than expected.’_ ” He held up the card a _Greetings From Kuravia_ postcard. 

“Oh.” Ashe poked the innocuous image. Nothing happened. 

Everyone let out a breath. Potential curses aside, it was a…nice…gesture that deserved a place on the Kyr-frigerator. Rat certainly was odd, but they supposed he was _their_ weirdo.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so let's be real. is Rat _really_ the weird one, or is it the group of adventurers who adopted the blatantly shady, cursed-as-shit merchant?


	11. Character A and Character B broke up, but now they meet at a Christmas party

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The only ship I could think of deserving this prompt

No one was more excited than Markus when they were invited down to Onorhant. Moren’s letter said that he was hosting a kind of business party with “a couple of work friends” that he wanted them to meet, and to his untrained eyes, it sounded like a lot of fun. Thog quickly assured everyone that Moren was setting up a meeting for a job, a _business_ business party.

“Okay but…why couldn’t he just say that?” Ashe asked.

“Because he was writing to _me_ ,” Thog sent a pointed look around the crown peering over his shoulder. “It’s just an Alarani formality.”

“But it’s addressed to all of us, look!” Gregor reached around and pointed. “’Nine Shrines Bar.’ That means we’re going, right?” He looked up expectantly.

Thog rubbed his forehead. Markus felt a little bad for him, but not bad enough to not chime in, “Oh yeah, for sure, we’re definitely going.”

“No, listen. The boss _is_ the company, that’s how these things work. I’m only going to be there a few days, he wasn’t actually-” Thog cut himself off seeing the five sets of eyes watching him. He cast one last appealing look around for support before he closed his eyes and waved a hand dismissively. Tired. “But I suppose…it wouldn’t be any worse than leaving you all with the bar on your own…”

The bar immediately became a swirl of energy while Ashe, Gregor, Inien, and Kyr all scattered to prepare for the trip. As he passed, Markus clapped a hand on Thog’s shoulder, unmoved in his chair.

“Come on, Thog, cheer up! You know it wouldn’t be the same without us; this could be fun!”

His eyes were expressionless when he looked up to Markus. “That…is exactly what I’m expecting. I know how your Fun goes.”

Markus heard the implied capitalization and chose to ignore it. What an incredible lack of faith.

*

Despite Thog’s pessimism, Markus was pleased to note that the trip to Onorhant was uneventful, without so much as a lost hairbrush. Their small crowd came bustling into the banquet hall, chattering loudly and craning their necks around them. Glittering chandeliers hung from the ceiling and several identically-dressed waiters moved in a precise circuit around the floor. A well-dressed blond caught their eye from across the room.

“Thog,” Moren came up pulled Thog into a brief hug. “I’m glad you could make it. And friends,” he added with a smile. Waves and “ _Hi”_ s were returned.

“Yeah, they…they’re with me.” Thog shrugged and turned to look at Moren squarely. “On behalf of the Nine Shrines Bar, I would like to apologize in advance for whatever dramatic and-or damaging bullshit they bring into your party.” He already looked like he was mentally distancing himself from the inevitable, and Markus felt the need to speak up in their defense.

“Be fair, Thog. Probably only _half_ of our bullshit is actually our fault. The rest,” he gestured grandly, “is simply Fate.”

Thog didn’t look impressed. Didn’t sound impressed either when he clapped his hands twice and addressed them all like an over-worked substitute teacher.

“Alright. You all weren’t actually _invited_ today, so I don’t need you to come to the job contact. I don’t  _want_  you to come to the job contact. Go join the party, go eat, go sit in a corner, but just  _go_  and for the love of god don’t make a scene.” Thog turned and walked away with Moren without another word.

Surprisingly, Markus found all his friends dispersing when he turned around. Gregor trailed after Ashe, skirting the room toward the food. Kyr was shuffling closer to the cluster of people dancing. Inien seemingly vanished into the well-dressed crowd. Which left Markus to his own devices.

Honestly, he didn’t mind that. He’d teased Thog, of course, but sometimes it was nice to have time alone, and as much as he loved his friends (which was a lot), it had been a while since Markus was able to just be a stranger in a crowd. He mingled around and flirted a bit, Charming Markus instead of Dad Markus for once. He occasionally caught a glance at his friends around the room, and everything genuinely seemed to be going well.

 _Thog needs to give us more credit,_  Markus thought, sipping a champagne flute.  _There’s no reason that we can’t have a normal night out._

He couldn’t say exactly why he scanned the crowd of people at that moment. A sixth sense honed toward foul energy. Boredom. Fate. Maybe Thog was right and they _did_ look for problems. Regardless, he took in the scene around him peacefully until, several yards away, he saw… _him_.

A sharp jolt ran through Markus, and he abruptly excused himself from the gentleman he was speaking with. What was he doing here, how could Moren have _invited_ him here? He spotted Thog and grabbed his arm desperately.

“ _Hey_ -! Oh. Hey, Markus. We’re just taking a break from negotiations right now. Everything’s…actually going pretty well.” Thog gave a half-shrug. “Sorry for doubting you so much, I guess? I mean, don’t get me wrong, the guy’s kind of gross and definitely a dirtbag but-”

 _“Ballast McGee.”_ Markus cut him off.

Thog looked surprised. “Yeah, that’s the guy.”

“ _What?”_

“What.”

Markus’ hand slowly fell from Thog’s arm. “No. Thog, please no. Tell me we’re not working for that trashy, talentless,  _plagiarizing-”_

“Is somebody talking about Ballast McGee, guurl?”

Markus whipped around and for the briefest moment, Ballast looked surprised to see him too. Then a slimy grin crawled back onto his face.

“Well, if it isn’t Markus Velafi. I didn’t expect to see you here.”

“He’s with us,” Thog said, carefully watching the two men in front of him. “He’s part of the company. You two…know each other.”

“Yep, and unfortunately we’ve decided that we can’t work for you, goodbye forever.” Markus turned to walk away, but Thog yanked him back in a full circle.

“Markus-“

 _“Thog,”_  Markus pleaded. He was more worked up than Thog expected, flushed and agitated. He felt a little bad for him. But not bad enough.

“Find us a different job then,” Thog said drily.

Markus’ mouth pulled into a scowl; they hadn’t had a job in weeks.

By this point, people nearby were starting to notice the tension in their corner of the room, and their friends were making their way over to investigate.

“Why don’t you tell them the real reason you won’t work under me,” Ballast winked.

“I don’t want to work  _for_  you because you’re a tacky, horrible little man,” Markus snapped.

Behind him, he heard Inien whisper, “Who’s the greaseball?” Someone made a vague  _‘I don’t know’_  noise.

“So you never told them,” Ballast grinned and brought his finger to the side of his nose.

“Don’t fucking do that, that’s my thing-”

“The cause of my deep rivalry against you, Markus Velafi. The reason driving my dedication to undermining your work...” he paused for effect and Markus scoffed. A voice in the surrounding crowd shushed him. Rude.

“Because you’ve never had any talent-”

“Because all those years ago, you  _broke my heart._ ”

The crowd around them let out intrigued  _Ooooh’s._ Gregor and Kyr looked at each other. Ashe audibly clapped a hand over her mouth. Inien looked like Christmas came early and Thog quickly downed a drink from a passing waiter. And Markus…

Markus quirked his head to the side. “Uhh, pardon?”

Ballast’s expression faltered slightly. “You- Three years ago. At a Christmas party, we… Do you not remember?” he narrowed his eyes slightly.

Markus scoffed. “Sure, I remember. We met at that writer’s convention, got drunk, and had shitty sex. What’s that got to do with…” he gestured at all of Ballast.

“You broke up with me over text!” he glared at Markus.

“Don’t’ be stupid, we didn’t break up because we weren’t together!” His voice jumped defensively, but Ballast continued on.

“I awoke after our night of _shared passion_ ,” Markus gagged. “With no sign of your presence at all except for a cruelly indifferent phone notification and quickly souring memories,” Ballast turned away, looking tragic. The surrounding guests began murmuring amongst themselves. Markus caught sight of one or two disapproving looks.

“Oh come  _on_ , you can’t expect-” Markus looked around him, frustrated. He sighed. “Alright, fine, you got your feelings hurt. I get it. Is that _really_ why you’ve been plagiarizing my work all this time?”

“That’s right, guurl. I wanted you to know the pain of betrayal just as sharply as I felt it that night. Or, I mean…you know, the morning following that night. With the text.”

Markus rolled his eyes. “Right, yeah definitely. I'm crushed.”

“So…” Thog looked warily between them, “If you’re both finished, we can continue-”

“Not so fast.”

“God dammit.”

“I can’t work with Markus,” Ballast said.

“We’ll need him with us to do this job,” Thog told him.

“Then I suppose I can’t hire you. Not until...” Again, Ballast paused for effect. Thog looked like his patience was waning.

“Not until Markus Velafi apologizes to ol’ Ballast McGee,” he winked and Markus shuddered. Like hell would he _ever_ -

“Alright! Get to it, Markus,” Inien jumped forward and started pushing him.

Markus started to say something indignant, but she yanked his shoulder down so he was eye-level with her. “Listen. Listen to me. Maybe you were in the wrong here or maybe you weren’t. Maybe he's overreacting or maybe you're just being stubborn. It doesn’t matter right now! We need a job, and if apologizing to this smug, greasy stranger is going to  _get_  us a job, then that is just what you’re going to do,” Inien grabbed his chin and turned it to his rival. “Tell him that you’re sorry for the weird shitty drunk sex.”

“Tell him sorry for making this into a weird thing?” Ashe suggested.

“And tell him sorry for the break-up text!” Gregor added.

 _“We weren’t together-_  No. Fine. Nevermind, okay, it’s fine,” Markus sighed and straightened up. “Ballast,” He turned around to the horrible person who was ruining his writing career. For the job. For his friends. “I…am sorry. For the weird shitty drunk sex. Expectations obviously weren’t _communicated_ and I suppose that was weird and shitty. I am sorry that I completely forgot about it afterwards. And, I am sorry that I didn’t think of your feelings enough to…” Markus faltered to find a word that wasn’t ‘break-up.’ “To _separate_ our… _interaction_ …properly,” he finished.

Ballast McGee stared at him for a long, hard moment. Then his face split into a toothy grin.

“Well thanks, guurl,” Ballast winked with a finger gun.

“…Really? That’s it?” Markus narrowed his eyes. “That’s all I had to do to get you to stop?”

“Oh, no! My books are doing far too well to give up now! I intend to profit off of your storylines for many years to come. But, you’ve got yourself a job,” He stuck a hand out.

“Despicable. But acceptable,” Markus took his hand with only slight cringing before allowing Thog to finally finish the contract.

*

The rest of the evening passed smoothly, for real this time. Later they found that Moren had apparently been completely unaware of the soap opera scene that was rising in the corner of the room. As important as it was to them, the rest of the party carried on regardless, undisturbed. There was probably some sort of lesson in that somewhere.

“Still have no idea who that guy is, but I’m proud of you, buddy,” Kyr came over and clapped a hand on Markus’ shoulder.

Markus smiled at him and shrugged. He was surprised to find that he almost meant most of what he said. Sort of. Ballast McGee was definitely still one of the scummiest people he knew, but it was good to finally have all the cards on the table, so to speak.

“I guess it’s nice to know that we can both talk about this like reasonable, mature adults-“

“And to end the night, you folks can have a chance to test your singing skills with karaoke!” one of the hosts spoke into the microphone while the band packed up. “Our first _enthusiastic_ volunteer is one…”

Oh gods no.

“‘Ballast McGee.’”

Markus’ face dropped, and the first few, horribly familiar notes started playing. Ballast positively strutted forward and drawled across the room, “This very special song is dedicated to a very special person in the room tonight.” Markus prayed he would leave it at that. “Markus Velafi!” Fuck it all.

_“Last Christmas, I gave you my heart…but the very next day…”_

Markus groaned. He changed his mind. Disgusting. No redeeming qualities. He and Kyr watched Ballast get progressively more empassioned by the song, travelling the entirety of the stage and hitting an optimistic half of the notes. He looked like a complete ass.

_“With a note saying, ‘I love you, I meant it!’”_

“Get off the stage!” Markus called.

**_“Now I know what a fool I’d been!”_ **

Markus sighed. Ballast was sweating by this point. If he had to give him credit for anything, it would be his enthusiasm. Ballast McGee did not do things half-way. Except writing, of course.

Kyr turned slightly at Markus' sigh. There was an ever-so-slight smile on his lips that Markus didn't seem to be aware of. Kyr opened his mouth to say something but then thought better of it. They were dramatic and chaotic enough on their own without anyone interfering, and everyone wanted to enjoy the rest of their night out. With luck, the two would never speak again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cursed  
> But yeah remember how Ballast is actually sort of justified in having a grudge because Markus killed his (step?-) brother?


	12. Character A is stuck working in coffee shop on Christmas Day and Character B is the lonely soul spending their whole day there.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> i present to you, the "trying to cram several arcs of character growth and relationship-building between these two assholes into less than 2000 words" speedrun  
> *ft. the prompt-obligatory Coffeeshop AU

Thog swore up and down that there was no reason to open; people wouldn’t be coming out to their shitty café on Christmas Day, they’d be at home doing whatever it was that families did, or going out to a _nice_ restaurant. Even the sorry, over-worked souls of their regulars wouldn’t have reason to be out.

Karen sat thoughtfully at her desk to consider this and put forward a compromise: if truly no one had shown up by noon, Thog was allowed to close for the day.

“After all, there’s no need to waste heating an empty room,” she reasoned.

That was tolerable. Good, actually – more than he expected – so he sat through the silent, drafty morning behind the counter and was already cleaning by the time 11:30 rolled around, looking forward to a half-day off. Until, just minutes later, the doorbell chimed open.

He turned slowly, any mood and energy both gone in an instant, and the noise reflexively triggered Thog’s greeting spiel before he even registered who had come in.

“Hello, welcome to the Magical Meadshire Café. May I interest you in- Oh hell, it’s you.” Thog’s eyes finally focused on a familiar head of puff. Some of the surprise must have colored his tone poorly though, because Ashe visibly bristled. Thog bit back a curse.

Their conversations tended to be limited to briefly bitching at each other amidst the crowds of bleary-eyed coffee addicts, but Thog actually thought Ashe was pretty alright, when she was in the mood to be. She had a sharp temper and no tact, but she also threatened shithead customers who didn’t tip. It was something refreshing in his monotonous, dead-end job serving monotonous, bleary-eyed customers. They were…not friends, or even friendly exactly, but acquaintance-ly maybe?

 _Except for right now,_ Thog thought while a scowl worked its way onto Ashe’s face. She was still paused half-way in the door like she was debating to still come in. Thog was debating if he wanted her to.

Ashe made her decision first and dumped a handful of coins onto the counter.

“Tea,” she ordered shortly. A few errant dimes rolled across the counter.

Thog wordlessly gathered them up and counted them methodically. He briefly considered saying something to her – he hadn’t _actually_ meant to sound like a dick for once – but decided against it. No need to make a big deal about it; he was just the barista, and they weren’t friends, and as soon as she got her drink she was leaving.

_…Fifty…dollar…dollar-twenty…thirty…forty-three, forty-four, forty-five…_

“Quarter short.”

Ashe swore sharply and began furiously patting down every inch of her pants, her coat, her bag. Thog rocked back on his heels while her muttering became increasingly colored by her accent, then sighed and dug into his back pocket. Merry Christmas or something. Her head whipped up at the movement.

_Yeah, whatever, you’re welcome-_

A hand suddenly darted out, and frigid fingers wrapping around his wrist, making Thog drop the quarter in surprise.

“ _Christ_ , your hands are cold!”

“No.”

… _No what_?

“Put that back,” she said firmly

“The _quarter_? It’s fine, it’s not gonna bankrupt me,” Thog muttered, and Ashe outright glared at him. He moved to pick up the coin again, but Ashe scooped her change away defensively.

“ _No_. Just…get me whatever’s cheapest.”

Thog felt his own annoyance begin creep up and they stared each other down in some odd battle of wills. He broke away first. Stupid. Fine. It didn’t matter to him, and if she wasn’t going to be adult, he would have to at least be _professional_. He plucked a small cinnamon pretzel from behind the counter.

“Seventy-five cents.”

Ashe finally handed him the change and, still holding eye-contact, very deliberately dropped an extra quarter into the tip jar.

Thog watched her walk across the empty café, suddenly, irrationally angry all over again. What? _Why_? What was her problem? What was apparently so goddamn offensive to her? _Spiteful, prideful, short-tempered_ … He continued to grumble to himself while finishing his tasks around the café. Karen be damned, as soon as Ashe was gone, he was leaving.

*

Two o’clock passed before Thog gave up the pretense of having anything else to clean. Even the chairs had been turned up onto the tables as an especially pointed hint, but Ashe remained steadfastly in her seat. At least five times since she walked in, Thog made the decision to just tell her to leave (since she clearly wasn’t going to otherwise. How in the world she managed to make that pretzel last so long was a mystery), but each time he stopped himself. Found one last item to check. One last chore to do. And now the café was spotless, so he just sat. And Ashe finished her pretzel so she just sat. The two of them sitting in silence except for Ashe’s fingers absent-mindedly drumming on the table.

It wouldn’t be so bad if Ashe wasn’t so goddamn _stubborn_. If she _was_ going to stay, she could at least make it a little more tolerable for the both of them. They could…talk. Or something.

Thog’s professional etiquette was to keep as far from the customers as possible. He was very good at managing the café, and the orders, and the other employees, but personal connections were a wasted effort, so what he knew about Ashe was pretty much limited to what he could see in front of him. Her weather-beaten boots. Threadbare satchel. The accent that flared up when she got angry, as she often did; defensive and biting. Her constantly changing work schedule from bouncing between jobs, which kept her visits to the café sporadic and the bags under her eyes deep. Thog didn’t know how she ended up here, but it was obvious to anyone paying attention that she was on her own.

 _‘To anyone paying attention,’ huh-?_ Thog dismissed the thought before it could even fully surface.

Instead he looked at Ashe’s still-bundled up form under the one heating vent in the ceiling and was already rolling his eyes at himself.

She didn’t look _that_ much younger than him, and Thog wasn’t exactly living the high life himself, but he turned from Ashe to the neat stacks of mugs he just put away behind the bar.

…

“Oh no. It looks like I accidentally made a cup of tea. And forgot that…I’m…allergic.” Thog cringed as his voice absolutely shattered the thick silence of the room. The drumming in the background stopped abruptly, and Ashe watched him walk over with a mix of confusion and suspicion.

He set the cup (tea with ten packets of sugar; he counted her pour them once in horror) down without making eye contact, but he could feel her gaze on him. An even more palpable silence than before fell over the room, and Thog wondered if there was any chance that Ashe would just take the drink without asking any questions.

Finally, Ashe scoffed. “You really can’t wait for me to get out of here,” she said, more an accusation than a question.

_Wait, not like that._

“Hold on-”

“What, a _bribe_? You _honestly_ can’t have me just sit here?”

“That’s not-”

“Sure, I mean, I’m just surprised _you_ of all people didn’t kick me out already…”

“What do you mean, ‘me of all people’-?”

“So if my presence _really_ offends you that much…”

Before he could get another word out, Ashe swung her back onto her shoulder, nearly slamming it into Thog. He tried to mentally catch up with the flurry of words Ashe threw at him.

“Fuck’s sake, no one’s kicking you out.”

She stopped and pivoted back around.

“Why not?” she demanded, which was such a frankly ridiculous question that Thog ignored it.

“Why are you trying to hide out in this shithole all day?” he asked back, mostly rhetorical, but to his surprise, Ashe crossed her arms and huffed.

“…’M waiting to go to the bar.”

_…Huh._

Ashe looked at him for another moment, then prompted him impatiently, “Your turn.”

“Hm?”

“I answered your question, your turn to answer mine. Why haven’t you kicked me out yet.”

“…Because I accidentally made a cup of tea. And I forgot that I’m allergic,” he said stubbornly.

Ashe looked at him curiously, and walked back over to the table. Then she snatched forward and downed the entire mug of what Thog knew was still near-scalding tea. She winced and teared up for a moment, but held his gaze, waiting.

That admittedly stopped him for a second, because what the fuck.

“I don’t want your pity, and you’re not a guy to give it, so. What’s. Your. Deal?” she repeated in a slightly rougher voice.

“I don’t- You just-” She didn’t sound angry anymore at least. Still defensive and a little suspicious, but that was just Ashe, really. “It wasn’t _pity_. I thought it looked like you could use it, as a…” he faltered again. “Frrrriend…?” The word felt weird on his tongue and Ashe made a face like she swallowed a lemon. Like someone switched her salt and her sugar.

“We’re not friends.” She looked surprised.

_Ouch. Okay, backtrack. Stupid. You’re stupid and made it weird; what now asshole-?_

Ashe continued. “Like, since when? You’ve always hated me.”

Now it was Thog’s turn to be surprised. “I never hated you?”

“ _Fucking_ \- Sure, semantics. Maybe ‘hate’ is too strong. You’ve never liked me, is the point.”

“…No? Why- What makes you think that?”

They stood in silence, staring at each other in the middle of the empty café.

“Hey um,” Ashe shuffled a little, shifting her bag to her other shoulder. “I don’t know if you’ve ever seen your face, but you have never sounded anything but pissed when I walk in. You looked pissed. _Still_ look pissed.”

“That’s just my face,” Thog said flatly. ‘ _Dead fish eyes_ ,’ he’s heard it before. “I don’t know how to tell you that not everything is about you.”

“Fuck you,” she sniped, but without the heat from before. “So, what? You’re telling me that it’s actually all about _you_ instead? You’re just this charming to everyone who walks in?”

“I’m saying that I didn’t want to spend the holiday with the police explaining why this _waif_ of a girl keeled over dead in my café.”

“So your big Grinch-y heart decided to spend the holiday with me instead, I’m flattered.” She rolled her eyes

“I changed my mind, I am kicking you out,” Thog said, but he made no move to do so. Ashe finally grinned a little.

“See, I don’t think you mean that.”

“Any minute now.”

At that, she barked a short laugh, and Thog felt the corner of his own mouth lift. He coughed.

“But it’s, uh, ‘your turn’ again anyway.”

“My turn?” She wrinkled her nose.

“You didn’t really answer my question.”

“Yes I did. I’m waiting for the bar to open.”

“Okay, fine. ‘Semantics,’” he echoed her, waving a hand dismissively. “But that’s not the whole story.”

“So?”

“So I answered your question.”

“You lied first though!”

“Deliberate omission is the same as lying, Ashe.”

“Is not!”

Thog looked from Ashe laughing at his to the clock. There was a happy hour starting in an hour down the street.

_Four o’clock. I’ll close the café at four o’clock for sure._

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Thog: why does this girl I never talk to not know I like her ??


	13. Character A’s little sibling/child wants to meet their favorite celebrity/writer/person for Christmas. Character B is said “Christmas present”.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> in which Harlock accidentally stumbles into a romcom anime meetcute instead of the scifi mech story she always wanted  
> *let's all pretend 'Homunculus' is a normal name, okay?

Harlock had two things in the world that mattered to her, her work and Homunculus. She had long since learned that she didn’t have the luxury of weighing herself down with other people, and she lived by that hard and fast rule to keep her eyes straight ahead, her wits sharp, and her expectations miles ahead of what was cherry-picked for her. But even so. She was familiar with stares. The paternally condescending looks from being one of the abysmally few women her lab. The quietly skeptical side-eyes that followed a woman of color in the professional world. The hard double-takes and the _pity_ when they saw her prosthetic arm and scarred body. Or when they saw Homunculus. Drooping face and wheelchair.  

So it was just the two of them. As it should be. And for all the challenges that came up, Homunculus wasn’t difficult to please; whatever she did, he looked at her like she shaped the constellations, and he wanted nothing more than to make her proud. Every day he had something new to tell her from the piles of books around the house. He especially had an attachment to monster stories.

Harlock did experience some doubt and, loath as she was to admit it, some unnecessary protectiveness seeing Homunculus throw himself into a history of medical phenomena that birthed the stories of monsters and ghouls. ‘ _Monster_.’ There was nothing _wrong_ with her son. And yet…Harlock remembered the years following her own accident as a teenager. She didn’t attach herself to monsters, but she did catch the height of the cyberpunk subgenre and dove _deep_. Through all the streaked hair and zipper-covered jackets ( _Ugh_ ) it actually inspired Harlock into biomedical engineering; figuring out how she could pull those mechanics and ideas into the real world, not just addressing hindrances, but creating advancements. She found something that resonated with her, so as this new author quickly grew into Homunculus’ new favorite person, Harlock was forced to concede that he seemed happy and decidedly not-scarred by what he was reading.

That was enough for her. She supposed she wasn’t terribly difficult to satisfy either; she was happy when he was happy.

Similarly, even though Harlock herself didn’t care much for winter – the cold, dry air didn’t agree well with Homunculus’ lungs, not to mention its chill drawing up some of her long-past memories of home… – Homunculus’ enthusiasm for the season meant that performing Christmas to the standard that now held it to was a month-long endeavor. Homunculus adored the holidays. Caterwauling along to carols, inserting himself into her baking and cooking as much as he could, and (attempting to) coerce her at every opportunity to drive around the neighborhood to see the lights and decorations. It was one of the nicer aspects of being a small family, creating their lives and traditions as they wanted, but still felt a little ridiculous sometimes. Harlock wasn’t exactly a person who slacked off, regardless of what she was doing, but she was sure that her family would have been stunned if they could see her bringing home a comically large Christmas tree and working elbow-deep in sugar cookies.

Presents didn’t follow a set formula from year to year, though. This, of course, meant that Harlock cut into her nights even before the month of December started, scouring the internet and reviewing jotted notes accumulated over the year. This year, however, she was confident. His author, the monster historian, was on tour over the coming months. And, more importantly, they were coming to a local bookstore, so she wouldn’t even have to take Homunculus far. A week before Christmas. Harlock wouldn’t have even noticed the flyer in the store window if not for their eye-catching pseudonym, a highly stylized capital _F_ , all in scarlet and gold. Not that she would have settled for anything less, but it seemed as though everything was fitting into place perfectly this year.

*

Harlock was someone who took a lot of pride in being in control of her emotions. She did not get _upset_. So it was only with extreme calm and focus that Homunculus was checked into the hospital. Things like this were inevitable; they happened. Cystic fibrosis didn’t play nice, especially in the winter, and all the attached medical complications didn’t go away either, so more than anything, Homunculus needed her to be present. Making sure he took his antibiotics and vitamins, watching his weight, tracking his diet, guiding him through physical therapy, and now, being stable and sure next to him while Homunculus was examined and poked and pricked all around the hospital. Not thinking about the present that Homunculus was going to miss tomorrow. Not thinking about what in the world she was going to find in a week to make up for it.

But Harlock’s always been a multi-tasker. Homunculus was finally settled in his room for the night, and Harlock signed some papers – _At least Homunculus didn’t know about the book signing…_ – _I can finish my lab report tonight…_ – spoke with the doctors – _There’s always that one after Christmas…_ – _I should email…_ – spoke with the doctors – _…but it is further away…_ – _Where’d my tablet…_ – went over some new treatment options – _There’s also that museum…_ – _Had Homunculus sounded sick last night?_ – and sat next to his bed – _You were working, but you must have noticed..._ – and sat next to his bed – _Always so busy, aren’t you…_ \- and sat next to his bed.

Harlock stood and stretched. It was going to be a long night, surely. She should get some coffee.

She told Homunculus where she’d be, patting his head absently as she passed. He turned from the nurse he was talking to and nodded back, smiling.

She hardly had to pay attention to her direction, she’d been in the hospital enough to know its layout. A left at this wing. Straight past that one and then right-

Into someone coming around the corner.

“Oh! I’m so sorry, are you alright?” The woman came to a full stop, unflustered, and reached out her hand carefully.

“I apologize,” Harlock said, and attempted to move around her, but they stepped in each other’s way.

“Oh no,”

“Excuse me-”

“I’ll just-”

“Wait-”

“Woops!”

The woman tried to take a decisive step out of the way but over-corrected and stumbled, barely catching her balance on Harlock, who instinctively reached around to steady her.

Now she was _very_ close; close enough to see her wide, heterochromic eyes. Harlock felt herself bristle at the unfamiliar contact, but instinctively reached around to steady her.

Still unbothered, the woman smiled and righted herself.

“Thank you, I’m sorry about that. This leg has me a little off-balance…” she apologized with a shrug.

Harlock was feeling a little off-balance herself. She cleared her throat.

“Of course, not a problem-” On second thought…

Harlock finally caught sight of the leg in question. A clunky, unsophisticated piece that frankly offended her. Already, the back of her mind began filling with alternatives and improvements.

The woman laughed a little at Harlock’s expression, drawing her attention back.

“Not very graceful, but it’s serviceable. I’ve never seen a prosthetic like yours before, if you don’t mind me saying,” she added. Close as they were, Harlock didn’t miss the smile that played on her lips when she looked down at the arm that was…still hovering around her waist.

Harlock took a step back, then offered a simple, “Thank you.” She couldn’t help the little bit of pride when she continued, “It’s my own design. My lab specializes in developing prosthetics,” and flexed her finger dexterously.

 “That’s amazing!” Her eyes suddenly lit up. “I’m just a writer, myself, I can’t imagine-”

“Are you a good writer?”

“Pardon?”

“Do you think of yourself as a good writer, or ‘just’ a writer?” Harlock repeated patiently.

She blinked at Harlock, then smiled. “I am a very good writer.”

“Then say so.” Criticism was necessary, but socially obligatory self-deprecation never landed with her. 

The woman laughed lightly. “Thank you. But is that why you were here? To meet with the hospital about your prosthetics?”

“No…actually, I’m here because of my son. He’s being kept in observation overnight.” Without consciously noticing, Harlock took a step back in the direction of Homunculus at the mention of her son. The woman followed suit.

“Oh, that’s terrible! I hope he’s alright.”

“He’ll be fine, just a precaution,” Harlock nodded to herself decisively, and left it at that. “And yourself?”

“Me? I’m getting my leg checked out. It’s a, ah, rather recent…addition” Her expression faltered just for a moment, but smiled brightly back at Harlock again. “The doctors say I’m coming along well.”

“Rather late for an appointment…” Nine o’clock by now?

“It’s been a busy couple of days. I’m actually going to be traveling soon, so,” she shrugged. “You do what you can.”

“I suppose you do.” Harlock looked up and found that they had reached Homunculus’ room.  “I hope your traveling goes well. And if you’re ever in the need for something new,” She gestured to the leg. “Here is my card.”

“’C. Harlock,’” she read. “I’m Firi. I guess I’ll ‘ _C'_  you later then, Harlock!”

Harlock came back into the room, nodded at Homunculus again, and sat down. Homunculus nodded back absently, but was looking at her curiously.

“Who were you talking to?”

Harlock did not get upset. And she also did not get _flustered_. She was always confident and always spoke with confidence.

“Just…someone.”

“Where’s your coffee?”

“Go to bed.”

He finally did, looking very slightly amused by something.

The night passed uneventfully. Harlock finished reports for work in the chair next to Homunculus’ bed and even finished enough to get a few hours of sleep. Despite herself, Harlock spent the next morning checking the time. _If the doctor came now, we could beat the line…If the doctor came now we’d be there in time…If the doctor came now we could still catch it…_ But time crawled on indifferently, as it always did, and Homunculus was discharged exactly fifty-three minutes after the book signing ended. It had been a nice thought, but nice thoughts don’t do much.

Harlock and Homunculus passed through the halls, past the sign-in desk, and were about to leave when they heard a bright, “Oh wait! There you are!”

Harlock turned and saw Firi walking quickly – carefully – up to them.

“Harlock! Hello,” Firi beamed at her.

Out of the corner of her eye, Harlock saw Homunculus perk up at the sound of her voice and looked suddenly very interested in watching the two of them.

“Miss Firi. Hello.”

“Just Firi’s fine. I tried to come down here as soon as I could, but I wasn't sure I would catch you and," She looked at Homunculus. "Your son, I assume?"

Harlock nodded carefully. A cute face didn’t mean anything if-

The two of them were already chattering away.

“Your leg looks really cool.”

“Thank you! I like the stickers you have on your chair.”

“I really like monsters.”

“I love monsters!” She pulled out a small “get well” card. It had a dragon sneezing a billow of flames. “I hope you don’t mind, but I’m rather fond of dragons as well.”

Homunculus grinned and thanked her politely. He turned back to Harlock eagerly. 

"Is she coming to lunch with us?" 

Firi looked surprised, and a little pink came into her cheeks for the first time. Harlock opened her mouth, closed it briefly, and took a deep breath before continuing calmly, "I'm sure Miss Firi-"

"Just Firi."

 _Cheeky_. 

"-has other things to do."

Firi raised her hand. 

"Yes?"

"Ah... I won't want to intrude, of course, but I would love to be able to talk a little more after yesterday. For business. About my leg. A business meeting, of course."

"Yeah, Ma, a business meeting!" Homunculus interjected. 

Harlock had two bright, smiling pairs of eyes on her, and she could feel her normally ironclad will weaken. Oh no. 

"If...Firi would want to-"

"What about ' _Miss Firi_ '-"

"And you, Homunculus, don't want to go home instead," Harlock threatened. He closed his mouth, but was still grinning widely at her. "Then I suppose you may join us for lunch. I do have some ideas about you leg I would like to discuss with you." She nodded to Firi. 

"I would love to see them."

Firi fell into step beside them as they left, a step in front of Harlock so Homunculus wouldn't have to crane his neck as far to talk with her. Still, it wasn't completely unlikely that Firi's hand accidentally brushed Harlock's own while they walked. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ~plot twist~ it's Harlock and Homunculus that adopt someone into their fold. can you tell i just slapped this ending together lol. romcom rules allow be creative license for bullshit
> 
> ok but real talk. besides being a difficult character to write in general, i, as a healthy white twentysomething, was trying to write modern setting harlock: a disabled woman of color in a hard science field + single mother of a disabled child, while also keeping this a ~2000 word lighthearted fic so. looking back i can see why it took me forever
> 
> also thanks to Lore by Aaron Mahnke for giving me some kind of idea of what firi's books would be like


	14. Character A can’t travel to see their family on Christmas, so they invite their grumpy loner neighbor Character B.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> College AU. It was inevitable

The RA assured Astra, again, that there would be other students in the dorms over the winter break. He seemed especially insistent to make sure Astra knew this, which was…a little odd; Astra had thought it would be evident this far into the year that she didn’t mind the quiet. In fact, today had already been a draining day of meeting her roommate’s friends and helping her pack for her trip home and getting her own end-of-semester tasks settled, so she was running rather low on energy even for this conversation. But she listened attentively anyway. People’s impressions of her never turned off, after all.

“And we’ll be holding a couple socials to get everyone out of their rooms! I don’t know how well you’ve met everyone, but we’ll have you, two more on this floor, one upstairs, and,” he thought. “Someone on the top floor.”

“…Harlock?”

He grinned widely. “Yes, that’s her! I think it’s great that you’ve connected with someone here.”

Well, not exactly. Astra knew _of_ Harlock as one of the other international students. It didn’t seem important, however, because the he continued before Astra could open her mouth.

_Everyone talks so **fast** here…_

“Anyway, I’ll let you settle back in for now, but remember that we’re having our first social to kick things off tonight. Food, music, games, and most importantly, you! Nine o’clock. It won’t take up too much of your time, but remember, it’ll be a long break if you’re by yourself for the whole month!”

“Thank you. I appreciate your visit,” Astra said, smiling softly.

Astra closed the door behind him and breathed out a sigh, listening to the RA bustle down the hall to the other students. Quiet soaked back into her room. It was true, she was going to have some long weeks ahead of her, but it felt like a relief if she was being honest. That in itself was a little strange, considering how used to sharing living space Astra was, but it was different at home. She grew up in such a close community, people she’d known all her life. Navigating boundaries with someone new was… Her roommate was a nice girl, but the two of them simply had different ways of interacting. It was just one more unexpected strain of living here.

Astra stretched out on her bed. Obviously, it would have been nice to see her family and her friends and her home, but she could at least use this time to relax and refocus while she was here. Even if these weeks dragged on… She let her eyes slip closed.

…

A quick succession of knocks from down the hall startled her back into the present.

“Social’s starting! Be there or be square!”

 _I don’t know what that **means**_ , Astra thought, momentarily grumpy and disoriented. She checked the time. Sure enough, nearly two hours had passed, but it felt like the abrupt awakening from banging doors retroactively sapped any rest from Astra’s nap. If anything, she felt worse than before.

_*Knock knock knock*_

“Astra?” a voice called outside her door.

She worked a smile back onto her face and opened to the RA.

“Yes?”

“ _Heyyy_ , listen. No big deal if you can’t, but everyone’s already making their way down to the social; would you want to go get your friend?”

_They really weren’t actually-_

_Doesn’t matter_.

“Of course.”

“Great, see you in a bit.” The RA pointed at her – finger-guns – before he left in a flurry of positive energy.

Astra could hear a handful of voices a distance away in the communal area. Everything sounded cheerful and good-natured, but the thought of trying to interact with these strangers right now sounded painful. She climbed the stairs to the top floor slowly, trying to think if there was anywhere else she could go. Half of the campus would be closed, especially as it got later. The library might be open, but that depended on her slipping out of the dorm entrance without the RA noticing. He couldn’t – wouldn’t, really – stop her per se, but she didn’t feel like she even had it in her to explain herself at this point.

On the top floor, Astra came to an open, unadorned door. She rapped a quiet knock on the frame.

A figure only illuminated by a desk light raised their finger for barely a second and continued writing. Another minute passed and Astra waited placidly until they turned around.

A fleeting emotion passed over Harock’s face seeing who was at her door.

“…Astra,” she greeted.

Good, she wouldn’t have to introduce herself. They’d never actually spoken, but Harlock seemed like someone who pays attention; she had very keen eyes...

“There’s a…party? I’m supposed to tell you.”

Harlock was already shaking her head. “Great. No. I’m not doing that.” She started to turn away, but added, "Thank you for telling me."

Astra shrugged noncommittally. Obligation fulfilled, she could…

Even going down to her room wasn’t so appealing with all the noise nearby. But here, three floors away, she couldn’t hear a thing. Nothing except the quiet hum of a lamp, and all at once, Astra didn’t want to leave. She subtly took in the room, looking for something to stall her return downstairs. Half of it was meticulously organized with papers, journals, hefty-looking manuals; on the other side, every inch was either covered with colorful post-its, or crammed with pens, journals, and books.

Harlock was still turned around, watching Astra loiter by the door. She didn’t know the steps to invite herself in, but if she didn’t say something soon, Harlock was inevitably going to shoo her out.

“You’re in PoliSci, aren’t you?” Harlock asked abruptly.

“Hm?” Astra snapped her attention back. “Yes, I am.”

 “There’s- I have a documentary. That you may be interested in. Maybe you can watch it sometime over break.” She sounded nonchalant, twirling and spinning a pencil between her fingers distractedly.

Astra floundered in her head for a moment; that was unexpected, she didn’t have a mental script ready.

“That…” she nodded decisively, mostly to herself. “Is very considerate of you. Thank you.”

Harlock looking satisfied. She straightened up from how she’d been ever so slightly leaning toward her while she waited for Astra’s answer.  

“Of course, I’d rather it not leave my-”

“Would it be a bother if I-”

They both stopped. Harlock gestured Astra to continue.

“Would…it be a bother if I stayed here? Now? To watch them?”

They knew each other’s names, they were almost friends, right? This wasn’t weird? Regardless, Harlock casually waved her inside, and relief flooded away her concerns and any thought of the party she’d left behind. Harlock stood, stretching her back – _like a cat…_ – and began putting her desk back in order while Astra sat contentedly on the floor, straight up so her back wouldn't touch the bed frame behind her. She hardly noticed Harlock’s pause before sitting next to her a few inches away. She pulled out a DVD – the first in a series, there were _hours_ of content here, – fussed with the screen angle briefly, and they both lapsed into silence. The awkwardness Astra was dreading – she was terrible at resolving it – never seemed to come. Harlock was confident and comfortable her own space, and Astra was infinitely grateful for the soft lamp light and quiet, steady narration. It was only as it was creeping toward midnight that Astra’s phone buzzed against her leg, breaking the monotony.

 **gay Lite™  
23:25** [ _astraa_ ]

Astra blinked down at the name. Harlock didn’t seem bothered by the light, so she typed out a quick message in response.

 **Queen  
23:28** [ _Lyra_.]

 **gay Lite™  
23:30** [ _i was talking with your aunt the other day and she said you aren’t coming home?? i thought you had your ticket and everything_ ]

 **Queen  
23:32** [ _It’s 4am over there, why are you awake?_ ]

 **gay Lite™**  
23:33 [ _yeah i couldn’t sleep haha_ ]  
23:34 [ _but anyway like i was saying…_ ]  
**23:34** [ _?_ ]

Astra took her time reading the messages over again before answering, repeating them in her head. She’d known that going to college abroad was going to be…difficult, but she hadn’t realized how much she would miss hearing her own language every day. She missed a lot of things – like the people who spoke it – but that alone made her feel more isolated than all of the other weird manners and styles and foods here.

But those kinds of thoughts weren’t productive. She’d made her decision, and she still felt that it was the right one, so the only thing to do was see this all through to the best of her very capable abilities.

 **Queen**  
23:27 [ _Not quite. She was thinking that it might be better if I just stay here until the year’s over_ ]  
**23:28** [ _…she said the fighting over there is getting pretty bad_ ]

 **gay Lite™**  
**23:29** [ _yeah, actually_ ]  
**23:30** [ _the district near your house? they got hit_ ]  
**23:30** [ _just a couple weeks ago_ ]  
**23:34** [ _shit wait. i don’t know if she wanted to tell you about that_ ]  
**23:35** [ _sorry_ ]  
**23:38** [ _she’s just really proud of you, you know? and she doesn’t want you getting distracted by all ~this~_ ]  
**23:42** [ _i’ve even been thinking of trying for college out of the country next year too!_ ]  
**23:47** [ _we all miss you_ ]  
**23:53** [ _drago and acqulia especially. they keep asking about you, have you gotten any of their messages?_ ]  
**23:59** [… _?_ ]  
** Missed Call: gay Lite™ ** _  
_**00:13** [ _astra?_ ]

Astra studiously turned off her phone and threw- tossed it- she _placed_ it next to her calmly, trying to ignore the taste of bile that had risen in her throat. Her aunt was right; she couldn’t get distracted, she was here to study. To study and learn and work so that she could go home to her family and try to fix a war-torn country that was long since falling apart-

Astra shut her eyes.

Her fist tightened for the briefest second.

And then she opened her eyes.

The documentary wasn’t playing anymore. She looked up and saw Harlock giving her a…calculating look. How odd. Astra stared back curiously, patiently, until Harlock finally spoke up.

“…It was lagging,” she said simply and quickly typed something into her laptop.

_Was it? I must not have noticed while…I was talking with Lyra._

“You can still stay though. If you want.” Harlock added, almost as an afterthought.

Harlock was looking off to the side, not quite at Astra or at the screen. Astra frowned in thought.

“I’m not keeping you up, am I?”

“I’d have kicked you out. I don’t sleep much.”

Astra nodded understandingly; she was more of a night owl herself.

“Well, if it’s no problem…”

Harlock almost smiled at her brought up a new show, something with bright animation and big expressions. Not something Astra typically watched and was only half paying attention to the strange high school fantasy. The plot was light and distracting, and it took several episodes for her to realize that she’d been subconsciously shifting closer as the show progressed. By now, she was nearly leaning against Harlock’s arm. Astra cleared her throat and sat up again, but Harlock followed her movement. Now the laptop was balanced directly between the two of them, half on her leg and half on Astra’s

"I said you could stay, so," She tapped Astra's arm with her elbow. "Stay."

Astra could see lights and shapes reflecting across Harlock's glasses, but not quite obscuring the eyes behind them, staring directly at her. 

She bit the inside of her cheek, trying to ground herself. Stay. Here. With the cold floor underneath her and the warmth of Harlock's arm not-quite touching her own. Finally she nodded,  _god_ she felt tired. Bit by bit, her posture loosened as the night progressed until they were both slouched, arced toward each other over the laptop being the only keystone keeping them up. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> as unstoppable force (harlock: "can't be held back by something if you compartmentalize everything into nonexistence") VS an immovable object (astra: "i will keep all of my feelings right here and then one day i'll die"). secretly featuring markus as the RA, ashe as astra's roommate, and inien as harlock's
> 
> *markus: how do i get these two incredibly solitary underclassman to talk to more people  
> *harlock: i need to know the name of that cute girl on the first floor. for. research purposes.  
> *markus: :D


	15. Character A and Character B compete in Christmas house decoration.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> How in the world does a ramshackle place like that stay afloat?
> 
> or: xin's increasing level's of pettiness

Everyone in the neighborhood expected the 9 Shrines Dines to be gone within the year when they first moved into their derelict little building; it just seemed inevitable.

 _A shame_ , people would muse after visiting. They seemed like nice enough folks, if a bit of an eclectic-looking bunch all together, but there was just no way to keep a project like that going long-term, disorganized and inexperienced as they were. A pity, but mostly a forgettable one. Xin, busy with his own exclusive nightclub across the street, could have almost disregarded them entirely if he didn’t feel compelled – entitled maybe – to know everything that was happening in his neighborhood. So, as it was, he watched them plod through month after month with their irregular trickle of customers.

And month after month after month.

Until, somewhere along the way, he watched their plodding became their stride. Sure it was still run down and still ugly, but that’s the look they were leaning into…apparently. A year later, and they were still, inexplicably, in business.

9 Shrines was a place where people just _ended up_ , where just anyone could fall into their fold – and they did. Xin himself had never been, of course, but he always heard them described as an “interesting” place to go. Decent drinks even without a lot of variety, food was alright even if their menu was inconsistent at best, and the staff made for a memorable atmosphere despite their peculiar habit of blurring the line between employee and customer. One customer (who _used_ to be a regular at the Ban, Xin later noted ruefully) stopped in, swearing up and down to him that the owner, momentarily forgetting who in his bar worked for him, offered them “an extra shift next week.” They’d explained that they didn’t work there, and on that note could they maybe get a refill? But gods help them, next week they found themselves in an apron polishing tables. They then cheerfully told Xin they’d probably be in Ban less now, but they’d stop in occasionally.

Xin wasn’t  _jealous_ of them for their success; it hardly mattered to him. What was a few customers lost while the Ban was still flourishing? Something about them just…grated on him in a professional way. If asked, Xin would be able to point to all the ways that he’s earned success, what exactly he had done to achieve it, and what he was doing to keep it. Sometimes he did that even without being asked. Ban was a source of pride for him; it was kept spotless, trouble was kept out, drinks were kept running all night by his sharply trained staff. Watching the 9 Shrines’ particular brand of chaos unfold was like a very deliberate train wreck; it honestly made his head hurt to think about. And seeing this ragtag group set themselves down in a half-condemned building (okay, a third-condemned; they’d done _some_ work on it) with all of their cavalier, graceless confidence struck something – not _petty_ , that wasn’t attractive – competitive in him. Something directionless and restless that wanted to reaffirm his position in the world. 

Eventually he sent one of his staff across the street (no _unseemly_ motives, just professional curiosity). She came back two hours later with a drink and what looked like a new phone charm, and she shrugged at Xin. It was only after prompting that she gestured something about a holiday party, a year-and-a-little-over celebration, music, lights. She finger-spelled the owner’s name, T-H-O-G, and shrugged again.

 _Well, Thog_. Xin straightened up, mind already turning over decorating ideas. _What’s a little healthy competition between businesses?_

It started off innocuously enough. 9 Shrines synched up some discount lights to a set of scratchy speakers for an hour or two on the weekends in December. It was almost quaint and seemed to draw them a few extra, much needed patrons over the month until Christmas Eve. At that point, seemingly overnight, Ban surrounded themselves with bright neon lights and sharp, carefully positioned speakers. Now thrumming with music both inside and out, Ban was filled to packing, and for the first time in months, no one in Xn's club was talking about his neighbor’s dirty dive bar.

Just visible in the shifting, multi-colored lights, Xin made sure to wave out the window.

Thog had already closed early.

But two years later, 9 Shrines not only had strings of lights running into the bar, but one of their employees could be spotted with his guitar each week by the window. Their scathing little bartender (she did _not_ care for Xin at all) procured some more speakers from somewhere which were passed on to that large puppy of a man-child so that now they were loud enough to rattled the window. They had a theme each week, and Xin could have sworn that he saw some of his staff spending time there on their off-hours.

Thog never seemed to involve himself personally. Honestly, he seemed barely aware of the streamers and garlands now cloaking both sides of the street each year, which was a little insulting. Despite 9 Shrines’ efforts, it wasn’t exactly an even competition to look at. Ban hadn’t been sitting idly by, and Xin had the money, the space, and the connections throughout the city to make things happen. Most recently, 9 Shrines threw together a little skit for a Christmas Eve “finale” – some bizarre feel-good romantic comedy, almost polytheistic in its attempt at inclusivity, with an underlying, unexplained theme around grief, and was generally an all-around mess. Xin had hired a local dance troupe for the night. By all rights, Xin was thoroughly trumping their unofficial competition, but Thog looked at Xin with all the recognition of seeing a slab of concrete. They weren't at each others levels as businesses to be much competition to each other, and they weren't enemies or partners or neutral business owner or friends or rivals; they just _were_. And for whatever reason, that kept him pouring resources into this objectively childish competition. 

The problem was that 9 Shrines didn’t play to win; they played to stay. To _not lose_. And if you didn’t lose for long enough, you sort of won be default.

*

Winter came racing toward them once again in a flurry of light and sound.

Despite having no explicit rules (and therefore, no clear winners each year), both sides seemed to have mutually agreed to a fair start. The blond, the one he saw playing music in 9 Shrines, tended to be the only one who would meet with him, so on the first weekend of December, the two of them met in the frigid night air. They stared each other down from across the street, smiling and seemingly unflappable, while a small crowd watched and waited with steaming cups of cocoa and coffee. Word spread over the past few years about “those weird bars downtown with the lights.” It was as advantageous as it was embarrassing, but there was nothing to be done about that.

This year, Xin had the outside of Ban positively dripping in white and gold. Lights were painstakingly arranged in careful swirls that shifted in time with the music that seemed to seep out from all corners. A gentle beacon to draw people away from the cold and into the beautiful ethereal glow. A larger-than-life piece of art off incredible time and effort. The crowd “ _Ooooh-ed_ ” appreciatively.

The blond watched from 9 Shrines, nodding to himself. Then he lifted a hand and snapped.

A fuse was lit, “Jingle Bell Rock” was cranked to its highest setting, and a screaming firework kicked off their show.

Sharply illuminated by the sudden pyrotechnics, Xin could see Thog working dutifully at the bar without so much as a glance up. He wasn’t smiling, but he wasn’t…not smiling. Xin watched him for a moment longer, then at the employee (giving Xin a thumbs up of all things), and disappeared back into his club. There were still things to be done.

Batty, by now very flippant about her travels back and forth between the two bars, mentioned that 9 Shrines was putting on another play this year. That in itself wasn't so noteworthy, except that she also said their owner, Thog, was participating. Whether his employees dragged him into it or he just had an unexpected passion for the performing arts, the head of the business was now involved; the very person Xin was aiming to beat. Or impress. Or both, either. If there was any year to go all out, this was it. Was he really expecting "defeat" 9 Shrines? For them to give up and pack away their silly light show? Of course not. But he would get some satisfaction out of them knowing that his was better, was that so much to ask?

Xin worked with laser-sharp focus until Christmas Eve, ignoring the skeptical side-eyes of his employees asking him if all this effort was _really_ worth it? He could see the 9 Shrines play beginning across the street, everything draped in paper-mâché and glitter while Xin was pulling together his own final preparations. Then all at once, there was a small commotion across the street. The play that they had been hyping up for over a month was cut off, and Xin paused, watching Thog, followed by several of his employees, file out of their bar and into a car, and speed away. A few patrons remained inside, but many others wandered out, shrugging to each other and looking bemused. A slow smile crept onto Xin's face. It was quite an unprofessional move to leave their bar, their  _job_ in the middle of the night, and it would be a slightly more hollow victory this year if they were all but forfeiting, but it was just another opportunity to make his own all the more spectacular. Diving back into his work, directing his people around, he didn’t notice the 9 Shrines quietly filtering back into the bar. Didn’t have a chance to notice them coming back with their boy that worked there with them. Or the small blond trailing behind them, one who would have been familiar to Xin had he looked over. He definitely didn't notice the 9 Shrines people enthusiastically explaining all their still-hanging decorations to their new guest, gesturing vaguely across the street. 

And while he wouldn't have seen the sharp grin that slipped into Zalvetta's face, or his slight figure slipping across the street, Xin would have been hard-pressed not to notice Ban's power cutting out of his club moments before his show started. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The power of friendship  
> looks @ chapter 6  
> but yea i rewrote this so many times i don't care anymore lmao
> 
> *Xin: validate me, senpai :(  
> *thog dont caare


	16. Character A bakes too many Christmas cookies so they share it with Character B.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> based on another certified mathes0n au of the pigbat prince http://mathes0n.tumblr.com/search/pigbat
> 
> oblivious sword lesbian gets a girlfriend...somehow + i just make up a bunch of stuff about pigbats

Batty hadn’t known what to think when she saw him arrive in Xin’s camp. It had been so long since she was in her own realm, since she had felt the presence of another pigbat, but she was still struck by a sudden rush of kinship. And as she watched him, curious and cautiously hopeful, it became increasingly clear.

The lost pigbat prince.

The politics and blood feuds of the pigbat realm were always fraught; it took a deft hand to be able to maneuver through them. The previous queen of Batty’s clan was an exceptional pigbat in this regard, savvy and sharp-witted. She was well respected by her clan, but she also had a surprisingly emotional heart; her focus never made her cold. Those in her court were sure that this would be her eventual downfall, and were always on guard for preying threats against their queen. Even so, they never could have foreseen where her end would come from.

Rivera, once introduced to the clan, had a surprising amount to offer in the pigbat realm. Previous contact with humans was, though rarely combative, limited and laced with mutual caution. Humans were known to be mercurial creatures, and pigbats were incredibly proud, but soon, seeing Rivera and the queen in tandem won over even the most skeptical in the court. She was flexible where the queen was strong, and their talents suited each other’s immensely. The announcement of the birth of their heir was met with celebration.

Tragedy quickly followed, however, when human authorities tracked Rivera down for past crimes. The details of what transpired next remained unclear; of all the pigbats who fought to defend, none were left alive to tell the fate of their queen, her lover, or the newborn child. The next in line was crowned with all the hopes of the heir returning to their rightful place, but ten years passed. Then twenty. Then thirty. And still, no sign of their return. The clan mourned and the queen was left to the memories and stories of her people.

But the heir was here the whole time, Batty realized. Clearly with no knowledge of his lineage – which did not bode well for the fate of his mothers – but the prince nonetheless. Her prince.

Batty had been a part of Xin’s clan, and he had done much for her in giving her a place to stay in this realm, but her loyalty to him did not run through blood. When Thog and his clan opposed Xin, there was nothing to do but join them. Intent on assuring her loyalty to her prince (though she couldn’t tell him anything, not yet), she pledged herself to fight alongside his…queen? No, that wasn’t right. His knight. His second-in-command. Ashe was a trusted and capable warrior, and Batty was relieved that despite his disconnect from his lineage, her prince was able to collect himself a trust clan.

Still, it was odd. Despite being made up of the outcasts of society, Xin always kept his clan close, uniform, one polished unit. Batty was able to fit herself into the ranks without worry of what she left behind or who she was supposed to be. Thog’s clan was so loud and chaotic that Batty felt the strangest sense of being unmoored as she left Onorhant. There was so much that Thog did not know yet, and he didn’t seem to know what to make of her attempts to bond with him and share his rituals. He wasn’t one to spar with her (pigbats were notoriously fierce, but Thog was a leader, a director, not a foot soldier), nor did he seem to like her trying his cigarettes. It was all just so…loose. It was frustrating.

Imagine her surprise when she arrived at the isles and found _another_ pigbat. And one of the Citadel of Clouds no less. Batty bristled on sight, quickly realizing her precarious position. Two clans of equal power (or, as the case may be, just two pigbats) will generally keep peace to avoid an unending stalemate, and it seemed as though they had something of a loose alliance. Thog didn’t realize – if course not, how could he – how Batty accompanying him now drastically changed the dynamics with Dont. Now outnumbered, she needed to make a definitive choice to be an ally to his clan or an opponent. Which would be difficult to do until Thog awakened the pigbat blood within him and officially took up his position.

Batty couldn’t stand the constant ambiguity and waiting. She didn’t know what Dont’s intents were, but she also couldn’t risk provoking her with disrespect from any outright suspicion. All that she could do was keep a careful watch over this frustrating pigbat until a statement was made.

Dont was incredibly difficult to understand. For her part, Dont never seemed to mind Batty’s hovering, giving her ample opportunity to observe her, but many of her behaviors made no sense to Batty. It was apparent that Dont was very proud, even for a pigbat, despite the fact that, realistically, she did all of the same, menial, everyday tasks of everyone else. Hovering as she was, Batty herself was often pulled into her chores, changing buckets of water while Dont scrubbed her little house or holding baskets while Dont collected fruit for her pies. She held herself with great importance, though as far as Batty could see, she was functionally clan-less, with the exception of some scattered ties to some other spirit folk of the isles. But she had no king or queen. And though Dont loved to talk and chatter while she worked, or did anything really, Batty never learned why that was. Her light, cheerful words filled the space on any topic that struck her fancy, but remained firmly in the present or near future. Occasionally Dot showed an affinity for magic, which made Batty wonder what Dont's position was before coming here. Why she came here. Or when-

And then Dont would turn to her, and Batty would suddenly feel uncomfortably exposed behind her mask. She didn’t know what those looks meant, and all at once, she was back to where she started.

*

Xin never preferred her pigbat shape at all; it was clear that he envisioned a very specific type of beauty that he wanted associated with him, which Batty could appreciate. Xin was certainly not the only leader to enforce regulations, and she was otherwise mostly allowed to decorate her form however she liked, but pigbats were sturdier and more comfortable for long periods of time. Unfortunately, seeing her as a pigbat seemed to cause Thog some level of discomfort (drawing up some long-dormant parts of him, perhaps). She wasn’t outright forbidden from it, but it was clear to Batty that she would not be giving up her alternate form just yet.

This was how Dont found her one day, squatting by the window of the bar and flipping and twirling a knife between her fingers- one of the few benefits of this shape was more dexterous hands.

Dont was much more comfortable shifting between forms, alternating them as her tasks required throughout the day. Right now, she was in her alternate form as well, carrying what looked like a tray of pastries. Batty straightened up. Cooking and baking were a significant part of pigbat culture, both in the physical action of it, the habits and rituals, as well as in the communal nature of food. With Thog unable to receive her in the manner required, Dont presenting her with these could very well be her signal of alliance. But pigbats’ talents for cooking didn’t stop at food, but poison. The most common method of assassination. Batty’s mind turned over rapidly in the moments while Dont walked up to her. She smiled – _What did **that** mean_ – and set the tray down.

Batty looked at the pastries and back to Dont. She raised her hands to say something, set them down, then raised them again and stood up decisively. Batty was not made for subtlety, and the time for it was passing further away with every second.

_“What are these?”_ she finally asked.

Dont quirked her head.

“Cookies? Those ones are sugar cookies, and those ones are gingerbread, and there’s one-”

_“What are they for?”_

Dont's expression cleared in understanding.

“Oh! Right. They’re for the holidays. There are a couple human celebrations around this time of year, and we’ve sort of picked them up-”

Batty’s gestures came more forcefully in her growing frustration.

_“Why did you bring me them?”_ Batty took a step forward. _“Make your motives clear_.”

Dont almost took a step backward, but planted her feet.

“What are _talking_ about? I made cookies, but Thog didn’t want all of them, so I thought you might. If you don’t want any than just say so.”

Batty shook her head, trying to organize her thoughts. She had already presented herself to Thog, surely that meant…

_“You have presented myself and my clan leader with a gift of foods to be shared between us. If this is your statement of alliance with our clan, I will accept on his behalf.”_ Batty finished with a small formal bow.

She heard Dont give a small, “ _Oh._ ”

Batty straightened up to look at her. Dont was playing with a lock of hair while she thought over something.

“I…thought we were already friends.”

Batty bristled. It wasn’t about _friends_ , it was about-

“Is that why you’ve been around so much?” Dont continued. “You didn’t…trust me?” She looked disappointed, and it made Batty feel antsy. _She_ wasn’t the wrong one here, Dont was! How could she know what Dont wanted if she didn’t do what she was supposed to, act like she was supposed to? Everything was off and weird and she didn’t know how to tell anyone. She reached for the comfortable, heavy handle of her knife absently and glared at the ground, trying to think.

Dont watched Batty’s growing frustration, then sighed. She sat down on the floor and offered a cookie to Batty.

“I don’t know, like, why you left the pigbat realm. I don’t know why you’re here. But, you are. Here, I mean. Humans are stupid and never do what they’re supposed to, but…” She munch on the cookie in her hand thoughtfully, forgetting what she’d been doing with it. Batty took a cookie off the plate. “I…didn’t like what we did in my clan.”

Batty frowned.

_“But your duties-”_

“I didn’t like it. So I left. And now I don’t have to. Because no one _cares_ here. Everything is in chaos, everyone doing their own stupid human _stuff_ ; either nothing gets done or all the wrong stuff _does_ get done or sometimes just really _weird_ stuff happens. And they just go with it!” Dont waved an arm out, gesturing to the world in general. “Because while all of that is stupid and weird, we can just be here, as stupid and weird as we like. Like sharing these tiny people-shaped cookies.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the real reason thog keeps collecting people  
> *pigbat brain* It Just Feels Right?


	17. Character A has to dress up as Santa for Christmas.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Merry Santa Day or whatever

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this was just going to be cute, maybe some light markus and kylil interactions, but then kyr showed up and i felt like that had to be addressed so instead... Hey Google, How Do You Write A Character That Hasn't Had Screentime In Basically Forever Interacting With A Character That Doesn't Like Talking To Her?

It was strange. For so many year, Kyl'il had only herself and a small community of fellow spiritfolk for company. It was a quiet life, she adapted to it. And through her experiences with Kyr's noise and chaos, she even managed to convince herself that she preferred it; no distractions, no bothersome crowds, no one trampling down her flowers across the isles. 

But then in swept that little group of adventurers, and it was like opening a floodgate of change. First in taming Charoth, the ports were open again. Even now, a year later, she was still a little surprised that they hadn't killed him. It would have been unfortunate, but understandable. Instead, the little spirit-god spent his days pattering around the bar complacently, and Kyl'il was occupied with ensuring that everyone who came ashore had no ill intent (though she never did see that merchant  they were always talking about, even when she scoured the isles through her lanterns...) It was refreshing to have something  _productive_ to do. 

Then they came back from Onorhant and people weren't just visiting, they were  _living_ here. Kyl'il wasn't just occupied, she was  _busy_.She was making registers of the inhabitants, and directing people to clean up the old abandoned houses, and trying to figure out how to keep everyone fed with the sudden influx of population. Kyl'il never thought that she would grow any closer to the humans of the 9 Shrines besides being mutual residences of the Shrouded Isles, but she found herself coordinating with Thog or Inien or even Batty on at least a weekly basis. 

All around her, she could hear humans and spiritfolk talk and laugh, see them walk by, feel the renewed energy on their rapidly-grown community. It felt  _right_ , and it kindled something inside her that had been quiet for some time now. 

*

Despite the steadily temperate climate of the isles, the seasons did  progress, and the approaching holidays sent residents scattering across the waters. Not all at once, but over the weeks, some left for family, some chased down oddly thematic adventures, and some carrying Alarani gold simply disappeared for the tax season. Kyl'il didn't even notice her growing restlessness until she was out wandering her rows of flowers and found her steps taking her toward the shrines. She paused, feeling  silly. After being kept for so long in forced isolation, she shouldn't be getting lonely after one slow month. Certainly, it was more keenly felt after a year of rebuilding her role as the figurehead of the islands, but the quiet should be a welcome holiday. Kyl'il continued this train of thought all the way up to the 9 Shrines. 

She hesitated again at the door. Truth be told, she wasn't sure if she had been inside the shrine-turned-bar since the adventurers moved in; any business that needed to be done was typically brought to her home. Did she knock? She wasn't sure how much this building served as their home ( _Where did they all sleep, exactly?_ ) but it was a public building first. She pushed the crooked door open. 

The temperature inside was only marginally different, drafty and- oh look, there was a hole in the wall. But the lighting was comfortable and the voices were bright. To her left, Kyl'il saw a cluster of people gathered around the tabled and Kyr, not noticing her come in, was explaining something from a book with a wild gesture of his arm.

"...a party?" Markus was enthusiastically asking. 

"So Kylil would be Santa!" Ashe added, laughing. 

Kylil stepped forward, curious. 

"I'm who?"

Inien, who _had_ been paying attention, grinned while the table jumped and turned like caught children. 

"Oh! Hello, um. Kylil." Ashe always sounded, not stiff, but more formal when speaking with Kylil. It was charming; most everyone else was still respectful, but used to her presence by now. "We were... Kyr was just saying..." Ashe looked at Kyr expectantly. Kyl'il looked at the boy ( _Man?_ ) as well, who had suddenly gone quiet, posture gone still and stiff. the air of the room tangibly changed while the silence continued. Markus looked between Ashe and Kyr and then finally Kylil. He cleared his throat. 

"Exactly! Kyr was showing us an old book he found of the old god  _Santa_." Markus' smile was just a little too bright  to be casual, but it succeeded in dispelling some of the tension out of the room. "Legend tells of an incredibly powerful being, not confined to any one geography or people. They travel worldwide on a horned, red-faced monster, trading gifts for confections. And anyone who didn't leave an appropriate offering was thrown into a sack, beaten, and enslaved in his workshop!"

Thog nodded. "Actually sounds like it could have been a precursor to the Tax Goat, but more like..." He waved a hand thoughtfully. "A god of deals and exchanges, instead of possession and repossession."

Kylil leaned forward to see images of the scarlet-clad figure, seemingly always featured near a fireplace. 

"And you would like me to...stand as this patron of the hearth?" Kylil was surprisingly touched. 

Ashe coughed. "I- We were just... It was a joke, obviously you don't have to-"

"The head of the household dresses up as Santa, those are the Santa-Day rules." Inien cut her off. "And Thog already said no."

"That sounds lovely, actually. I would very much like to join your holiday festivities." Ashe and Markus beamed, and Gregor nodded enthusiastically beside them. Kylil leaned forward toward the book once more and frowned to herself. 

"But I'm afraid I don't have anything quite fitting this occasion."

"Oh don't worry, Kyr's great with costumes!" 

Kyr, quiet for the conversation so far, now looked up sharply. He was shaking his head at Gregor, but Markus was already adding, "...yeah. Yeah, he is! You should have seen his Costume Day costumes! We're having the part next week, but I bet he could put together a set of robes for you in no time!"

"Markus, I love you man, but no," Kyr said. His eyes kept darting between Markus and herself, nervously. "And Kylil doesn't want me near her house either. You can do it, can't you?"

Kylil sighed. Certainly, she would rather not spend more time than necessary in Kyr's company, but it seemed like it would fall to her to take the higher road here. 

"Kyr, honestly" she said patiently. "Markus has other responsibilities, I'm sure. No one is making you do this, but if you would decide to, you know where to find me." With that, she left the 9 Shrines to their planning again. 

Volatile as she knew Kyr's emotions could be, there was no way to guess when or if he would show up. She suspected he wouldn't; she hardly saw him anymore since the adventurers moved into the Shrouded Isles. Funny, she'd hardly noticed with as busy as she'd been with the increased activity around the islands. Well, good for him. Better to bother his friends than her. 

Several days passed with no sign of Kyr before Kyl'il wore him off entirely. Markus assured her that festival preparations were still underway and Kyr would be over any day now, but Kyl'il doubted it. He was more likely off sulking somewhere, and she had other business to attend to anyway. 

Two days before the festival was set for, two heavy thuds sounded at her door. There stood Kyr, sulking - as she suspected - but resignedly so. He took a few steps back the door opened. 

"Don't set me on fire."

"She  _what_ _?_ "

"What- That's not what I meant," he muttered, then nodded toward the inside of her house, hefting the load in his arms expectantly. 

Kyl'il obligingly moved out of the way, but looked down at the door before closing it. Scuff marks from where he kicked it. She frowned deeply, but closed the door without another word. Turning around, she realized that Kyr was unloading his bag, spreading its contents across on of her tables. 

"You're not staying here  _all_ _day?_ "

"Yep."

"You can't." Kyl'il shook her head, despite Kyr's back still being turned. "I'm busy." 

His hands didn't slow, but she did see his shoulders tense. She almost thought he was just going to ignore her when he continued unpacking in silence, not turning around, but he eventually said, "I'm already here, Kyl'il. Just...let me finish this" He sounded tired. Kyl'il felt tired too. Finally she waved a hand. 

"Try and keep out of the way, at least. I have work to do."

"Gotta measure you first."

Kyr flitted around her with a tape measure for a few brief moments, quicker than she would expect from him. He seemed to be taking pains to not touch her, not stopping to write anything down, and almost as soon as he started, he was gone and consulting a notebook filled with scribbled notes and sketched designs. Thinking about it now, that was probably what took him so long getting here. Assuming her contribution was done, she sat down with a notebook of her own. 

As inconvenient as he still was, measuring and marking and cutting the fabric spread across her floor, Kyr was quieter than she expected. More so that she could ever remember him being, certainly. The shuffling fabric made for gentle background noise that had been missing from the isles the past weeks. 

Night fell before Kyr picked up a needle, weaving clean white thread deftly between the layers. She watched him concentrate on the small even stitches, but he almost immediately spoke up.

"What? I can't sew any faster, I'm almost done." He sounded more defensive than Kyl'il thought he should, but she ignored it. 

"I just didn't know you could sew, actually," she admitted. Of course she knew he could build, one would have to be blind and deaf to not know that on the islands, but this seemed like much more tedious work than what he usually did. Kyr looked at her incredulously, meeting her eyes for the first time since he got here. 

"Kyl'il, of course I can? You know I can, how else would I have," He gestured to himself as a whole. "Anything? From you?" 

Seeing his expression scrunch in confusion made a memory surface from some years ago. A younger, smaller Kyr, sad but hopeful, presented his clothing to her, small on his rapidly changing body and slightly singed from whatever he'd been making. Whatever he'd been making in her  _flowerbeds_. She'd shooed him away and quickly forgot about it until now. He was taller and big-boned and loud, but the expression was the same. 

"You always were a rowdy child..." Kyl'il said, mostly to herself. 

Kyr scowled and picked up the needle again. "You were always  _mean_."

"Kyr, don't be so-"

"And you always do that," he continued, shaking his head. "You always talk like you're  _right_ , so I always thought I was doing something  _wrong_ , but you know what you are? You're a cold person, Ky;'il."

Kyl'il crossed her arms. "Am I?"

"You are."

"Kyr, I don't know what you would have me do. I didn't - none of us did - know how to raise a human. It was all we could do to tolerate you handing us explosives every day."

"But you didn't even do that! You couldn't -  _none of you could_ \- tolerate me until my friends came along, and now you're super nice to them. And that's okay. I get that! They're really cool and I know why you'd like them, but you can't just  _choose_ when to be nice. That's not what nice  _is_."

Kyr's jaw was set, like he was ready to argue the rest of the night. It was...funny, strange, how much less skittish he seemed. The bravado he always carried around with him was less, but he hadn't been able to hold eye contact with her like this in years, hadn't tried to push her on something in years. 

"Suppose I _wasn't_ nice," she said. "Suppose circumstances tried to thrust me into a role as your mother on top of holding together a community after a devastating change, and I didn't follow it. How could I? It felt like my first priority had to be to the spiritfolk of these islands; I needed to know that the they were safe and everything was under control." Kyl'il shook her head to herself. "Of course, that meant that everything stayed rather the same, focused as I was on...maintaining, rather than regrowing. I can see that what...patience or attention I had to spare you may not have been enough, but I certainly couldn't have been expected to give you _more_."

Kyr leaned forward, head on his hands, to look at her thoughtfully after she was done. 

"...You're really bad at apologizing."

"It wasn't really an apology."

"I'll say." Kyr rolled his eyes and went back to sewing, on stitch after another.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> an anticlimactic ending brought to you by: this bitch was trying to resolve this fic for like three days and then just gave up


	18. Character A and Character B have to save Christmas.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kyr loves his friends

Kyr wasn't really sure what all the fuss was about Christmas. Sure, the lights were cool, but he could make those anytime. You could make food anytime. For Kyr, Twelfthmoth just marked the end of another year for the isles. Most of the time, when Kyr didn't "get" something like this, when he missed the point of something that his friends seemed to take for granted, he was able to borrow their enthusiasm and interest, and it was basically the same thing. Kyr had been spending hours over the past weeks, enthralled with seeing Markus' face light up in anticipation and hearing his voice... It was enough to make Kyr look forward to the holiday too, if only because he loved seeing his friends happy. So he wasn't going to ruin it by pouting now. Which he wasn't. Obviously.

So, sure, maybe his friends got for a job during Christmas, Kyr was an adult and he could take care of himself. And maybe that job sounded super dangerous when Thog read the letter, but they were adults too; they knew what they were doing. And  _maybe_  no one even _asked_ if he wanted to come with, but Kyr wasn't a fighter and he knew that. They didn't need him to go along, and he'd been told ample times over his life that he had a talent for getting in the way. So he wasn't pouting. 

He didn't know why, then, Markus stopped dead when he walked into the bar. 

He changed directions sharply, came up behind Kyr, and threw a friendly arm around his shoulders. He smelled like brimstone. 

"Why the long face, friend?" Markus breath brushed past Kyr's cheek. It smelled like peppermint. 

" _You_  have a long face," Kyr retorted automatically, already feeling himself being pulled out of his head by the magnetic, glowing personality of his best bro. 

"I have a perfectly proportional face!" Markus preened a little so that Kyr could see all the angles of his profile. It  _was_  a nice profile. Then Markus sat down next to him. "Goof aside, I meant,  _'Why so glum, chum?'_  And you know it!"

Kyr grinned a little despite himself. But what could he say? He may not know everything about having friends, but he was reasonably confident that you weren't supposed to say,  _"I want you to not go do that job you've been hired for just so you can stay home with your whiny best friend._ "

"I was just..."  _But you're not supposed to lie either._  "...thinking about stuff."

Markus nodded slowly, almost certainly catching the deflection, but letting it go anyway. 

"Lots to think about," he said, following Kyr's ambiguous remark with an inane one of his own. "But better think it quick, we're leaving tomorrow." 

"Pack heavy," Thog spoke up from the other side of the room, only half listening to their conversation. "Snow."

"Snow?" Markus repeated, dancing the line between excited and skeptical. "It's going to snow? Here?"

It had been feeling cooler than usual lately, but the Shrouded Isles didn't really  _get_  snow. Or at least, not in all the time that Kyr had lived here. 

"Is it...dangerous?" Kyr asked, thinking of millions of bits of ice falling onto their rickety bar.

"Probably nothing, but make sure too bother Ashe about it, or she'll be complaining the whole way about the cold."

Markus nodded and gave a sloppy salute. 

Well, Kyr had actually meant if it would be dangerous for himself staying on the island, but Markus was still talking to Thog. If they weren't worried, then he probably didn't need to be either. They weren't forgetting him, obviously. While they were occupied, Kyr slipped outside into the gradually chilling air. 

His workshop was almost more home than his actual house was, considering how many hours he could and did spend in it over the years. Everything had a place which Kyr either did or did not follow. Here, it was just him and his tools together in this little corner of the world. It had begun feeling a little smaller recently after traveling to so many places, the quiet a little more noticeable, but that was alright. And right now, Kyr could really use the invent-zone. He looked over all the scraps and springs, bits and bolts, waiting to see if anything struck out at him. His friends would be gone for a little over a week, plenty of time to dedicate to something. Maybe it would snow, he could make something for that, surely. He wasn't sure how he felt about this  _snow_  yet. Kyr liked the warm; he was almost thirty-percent sure that his birthday was in the summer. Markus was always very warm, like fire. Like a...noodley sun. He wondered if Markus would make him that pasta dish he did sometimes, or maybe let Kyr make him something; Markus was always excited to see what Kyr was up to…

Kyr never needed a clock in his workshop, never has anywhere to be or anyone to keep waiting, so he wasn't sure how much later it was that he heard a knock on the door. He braced at first, reaching out blindly to catch whatever was falling, but then the knock came a second time, followed by Markus' muffled voice, "Kyr? Buddy, you in there?"

Before Kyr could get to the door, Markus poked his head in (carefully; things were known to fly and explode and platter in the workshop). 

"Yeah, I'm here." Kyr looked confused at Markus. "Um, did Charoth shed on you or something?"

"What?" Something fluffy and white splotched off of Markus' hair. "No, just come quick, look!" 

Kyr followed him out the door, not sure if he should be worried by his tone or not. Night had fallen, and outside, everything was covered in a thick layer of that same fluff. Only half lit by the light of the workshop, it gave everything a weird, unearthly look. Kyr shivered a little. 

"...Snow," he said at the same time as Markus. He looked to his friend. 

"I had to make sure you saw your first snow with someone! You know, some people used to say that snow was the gods' gift to this realm. A fleeting taste of the glitter that they hoarded in the clouds. It uses the sun to shine, even as it's melted away by it." Markus stuck out a hand, catching flakes that were melting even before they touched his hot skin. "It's the most brilliant thing we have in our world." Markus turned toward Kyr, then paused, sputtered a small laugh, and reached toward Kyr's face. 

"Nice glasses, Kyr." Markus propped the work goggles up on his forehead. Looking without the tinted lenses, Kyr’s breath caught in his throat. Whoever  _"some people"_   were, they'd clearly never seen Markus' eyes. 

He turned away before the staring got too weird, looking out at the little speckles tumble to the ground. It must have been snowing for a while to cover this much, which reminded him.

"Does this count as a 'probably nothing' amount of snow?" Kyr asked, thinking back to Thog. 

Markus laughed. "This is strictly an 'a lot' amount. Too much, in fact, at least for the job. Thog called the job off since it looks like the snow's only going to keep going. 

Kyr felt a pang of something in his gut. Relief, he was happy his friends were staying, but he knew that shouldn't. He felt almost guilty, as if he'd personally manifested the snow from his desire for his friends to stay. 

"...weird, thought, right? Considering that we were definitely going to a job risking life and limb," Markus was continuing. Kyr focused back on him, trying to catch up. “It’s fine either way, but if I’d known that we were going to stay here, I’d have at least put up some decorations.”

And all at once, Kyr could see it: everything that Markus had been telling him all these weeks.

“Let’s do it!”

“What, decorate? In the snow?” Markus asked, but a grin was forming on his face too.

“Like a surprise!”

“A Christmas surprise!”

He couldn’t do anything about their job being canceled, but he could make it worthwhile that they stayed. Kyr pulled Markus back into the workshop and began sorting through boxes of wires.

“These are usually a ‘fire’ hazard,’” Kyr said, handing over a string of brilliant, jewel-colored bulbs. “But with all this snow it should cancel out.”

“Makes sense to me!”

Kyr looked around thoughtfully and grabbed a couple more lights. He’d make them for Ashe’s Spook Day when she mentioned the fruit and vegetable carvings filled with candles. Then he moved on to another shelf.

“We need a tree, right?”

“We definitely need a tree.” Markus nodded. “The bigger, the better.”

“Does it have to be a _real_ tree?”

“Traditionally yes, but not for our purposes. Why?”

Kyr pulled out a long green tube from behind a shelf. It was textured oddly, almost like it had a wood grain.

“Well, remember those trees in Meadshire? It made me want to try something.”

He pressed a button and branches popped up and out. Individual needles hung down and swayed hypnotically, catching light off their metal surface. Markus’ eyes widened.

“That looks like it could kill me.”

Kyr deflated a little.

“Oh. Yeah, I guess you’re right. I probably have something that can cut down a real-”

“What? No, it stays.” Markus put his hand on Kyr’s shoulder. “It’ll be a monument to all the other things that have tried to kill us this year. Poetry. Thog’ll love it.”

They dragged it across the isles and (quickly) through the Prison of Lights, back to the bar. While Kyr set the decorations up, Markus paced the room thoughtfully.

“Snow day pillow fort.”

Markus nodded decisively and ran out of the main room. Just as Kyr was climbing down off of a table, lights dangling from the rafters, Markus came bursting through the door with an absolutely stuffed bag. He up-ended it, spilling blankets and pillows and every soft thing he could find. In one corner, he especially piled up a pile of blankets enticingly for Gregor to bury himself in. After another second of thought, he made another next to it for Inien.

The sun was starting to creep toward the horizon, dimmer through the clouds, but noticeable. Kyr was laying out Christmas morning snacks, ranging from chestnuts and cranberries for Gregor to thick hot chocolate for Thog. Markus was tossing glitter here and there, hanging a extra decorations in between the lights. The soft glow, the warm smells, the ominous buzzing from Kyr’s hanging bulbs, all made for a peaceful scene. Kyr slouched against Markus’ side on their pile of pillows, watching the room grow brighter by degrees while they waiting for their friends to rise. He felt…satisfied. Kyr had been making things for people for as long as he could remember, but it felt different, nicer, more solid somehow, to make something he could share with them. People he trusted and liked and that liked him. And he never really had the opportunity to make something _with_ someone. He felt warm and content.

Half asleep after hours of excitement and running around, Kyr mumbled into Markus’ shoulder, “Sorry the snow stopped you guys’s job, but ‘m glad you guys are spending Christmas with me.”

Markus laughed quietly. “As opposed to what?”

Kyr shrugged vaguely.

“It’s not like the job…” Markus was silent for another moment. “’ _You guys_?’” He sounded like he was frowning, and Kyr sat up, confused. He _was_ frowning.

“Kyr, you…do know that you were coming too right?” Markus poked Kyr’s shoulder when he didn’t answer. “You heard that ‘everyone’ was going. Obviously that means you too. Why would you think that doesn’t mean you too?” He sounded incredulous.

Kyr shuffled in his seat. “I mean, it’s not a big deal, I know I’m not strong-”

“I’m not strong,” Markus interrupted.

“That’s different, you do cool other stuff-”

“You do cool other stuff,” he said like it was obvious.

Kyr shook his head. He didn’t know how to explain it, had never had to before. But it was different.

"It's different-"

Markus threw his bony arms around Kyr. 

"Of course, man. We've all got our cool other stuff. You _are_ cool other stuff." Markus' words were slightly muffled with his face squished against Kyr's chest, but insistent. Even feeling the draft slip through the room, even before their friends started making their way into the room, Kyr could feel the heat spreading out from his chest, and he relented, hugging Markus back. Even if he didn't always "get it" the way his friends did, Markus was always more than willing to explain. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯  
> kind of 50/50 on how this turned out but here ya go
> 
> there was almost a mistletoe scene and i'm so mad i couldn't manage to get it in


	19. It’s Character A’s first Christmas since a tragedy.

Gregor swiftly and carefully – _so_ carefully – crossed the border from Renalan near sunset, calculating how long he’d be able to rest tonight before needing to move again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Merry Christmas, Gregor my boy.


	20. Character A returns to their birth-town for the holidays. Character B is their estranged childhood best friend.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which being grown-ups is both harder and easier than expected

Kyrlos always had what people liked to call “a lot of personality” when he was growing up. He was quick to draw people in, making him plenty of friends in school and in sports, and keeping his name in the right people’s mouths. Not compensating for talent, but just ensuring that his couldn’t be over-looked. His self-assurance and eye for the big-picture guided him well when he joined the army after high school, and anyone who looked his way saw a boy and then very quickly a man who didn’t back down from anything.

So, you’d think it would take more than a text message to have him fumbling with his phone and shuffling his feet like a sweaty high schooler.

Kyrlos roused himself and typed out a message.

: : Heyy, guess who’s :

_Still eighteen, apparently. Stupid._ Kyrlos erased it.

: : Hi, just wanted to let you know that I :

_That what? You’re setting up a dentist appointment? Try again._

: : Listen, I know last time we talked :

_Sure, just going to jump right into that why don’t you?_

: : Hey Zeke, it’s Kyrlos. I’m in town, maybe we can meet up : :

Alright, acceptable. Send.

To distract himself from sending a barrage of messages after that, Kyrlos took in the scene around him;  all it needed was a dusting of snow to be picture-perfect. It felt strange, being back in his city for the first time since high school graduation, but also comfortable. Like he knew what to expect. Same bright, busy streets, same stores dotting the sidewalks, same schools on the hill. Same Kyrlos? Maybe not quite, but it was a near enough thing.

The quiet, reflective moment was broken when Kyrlos almost tripped himself in his rush to yank out his phone at his notification.

: : Hello. It’s a surprise to hear from you. If it’s convenient, I’m going to be in the market square today. If not, feel free to send me time’s you’re available : :

That sounded so formal. It was hard to tell if that was from around two decades ( _god,_ it was really that long…) of silence between them, or just the nature of adult correspondence; Kyrlos couldn’t get a read on his tone. After half a moment of thought, Kyrlos very deliberately sent back a : : 👍 : : and hailed a cab into the center of town.

The market was predictably quieter during the winter, the open-air stands either closing up or renting space indoors (except for one person calmly braving the cold at the other side of the square; he actually looked like a new addition). Still, there was a handful of people milling about, popping in and out of the stores and restaurants. Kyrlos turned in a slow circle, debating to call Zeke. He shouldn’t be too hard to find, he always was a loud bastard. There was an old man going into a bar, a girl coming from a bookstore, and some freak of height and nature walking toward him-

But that couldn’t be.

Kyrlos watched until this near-stranger – no heavy make-up or leather or bleached hair – come closer with calm recognition and greet him.

“Kyrlos,” he said.

“…Zeke?” In the back of his mind, Kyrlos was still sorting through old memories of his youth, trying to find someone who matched this face.

He smiled. “I’m rather surprised that you recognized me,” he – Zeke, apparently – confessed.

_I didn’t…_

Out loud, he said, “Yeah, uh, of course. It’s…good to see you. You look…”

How _did_ he look? Calm. Weirdly put-together. Tall as hell now. He didn’t see any part of the scrappy punk Kyrlos grew up with, made a shitty metal band with, got high with on random Wednesday nights. Kyrlos hadn’t _expected_ anything with Zeke, per se, but this was still definitely unexpected.

“You look good,” he finally admitted.

“Thank you, you as well. You were easy enough to spot. Is that the same jacket from high school?” Zeke smiled like he might be laughing at him. Kyrlos prickled defensively.

“No, it’s not, it’s just-”

“An identical one, of course.” Now Zeke _was_ laughing at him. It was a light, airy thing, but it animated his face in a new way (and _just a little_ bit of familiarity), distracting him from whatever clever retort he was preparing back. He coughed and rolled his eyes.

“Alright, I didn’t come all the way back here to listen to ‘ _the motherfucking bowel-ripper_ ’ insult _my_ jacket.”

Now Zeke frowned at him, not looking thrilled at hearing his _very_ out-dated stage name (“stage name” implying they’d ever done more than yell and holler in his parent’s garage.) And hey, when Kyrlos made a bad decision, at least he stuck to it. He grinned at Zeke, satisfied with their balance restored.

“Lemme but you a coffee or something. Too damn cold out here.”

Ma had always said Kyrlos was a talker, but he was still having trouble filling the silence around his friend. Entering a nearby café, Zeke seemed at ease, but he still could get a real read on his mood. The Zeke he knew used to wear each and every one of his emotions on his sleeve and then took them off his sleeve and threw them at your face, yelling all the while. The complete absence of that now felt off-putting. The last time they were face-to-face, the last time they spoke at all, they were shouting at each other. Standing out in their school parking lot, yelling their heads off. Zeke hated – _hated_ – that Kyrlos was joining the army. Said that Kyrlos was a child, a sheep, a puppy chasing after glory in a sick, shitty corporation, and went on at length in the vein – English was the one class in school he could tolerate. Called also him stupid a bunch, too. Then Kyrlos said something along the lines of “becoming someone;” leaving this city and making a name for himself and becoming great and successful… Zeke’s metaphor may have been off, but he’d probably had a point. At the time. At least little bit.

Still, Kyrlos didn’t regret his decision. He’d learned a lot and done a lot and he was proud of who he was because of it.

It occurred to him that these would all probably be thoughts to share with Zeke.

“I’m…”

Zeke looked up from his tea.

“I’m actually in Onorhant to stay.”

“Oh. Are you still…”

“Yep. Captain now. Gonna be at the base on the edge of town.”

“Oh,” Zeke said again. “Congratulations. I’m happy for you.”

They lapsed into silence again. _Fuck_ this inscrutable calm. Kyrlos was not a delicate man, emotional and passionate maybe, but he wasn’t going to just let them gloss over the elephant in the room.

“Come _on_ , Zeke, actually say something. Are you _mad_? Are you still angry? Can you tell me that much at least?”

“Kyrlos-”

“Because I get it. I do. I’m not saying I should have listened to you, but I wish we’d… I wanted to talk with you, but I kept thinking for some reason that you’d break first. By the time I got my first promotion, the only person I wanted to tell was you, but that felt like the shittiest way to start talking again. I was pretty sure you would just…not talk to me again…” Kyrlos’s words trailed off, seeing Zeke shaking his head to himself.

“If anything, I thought you were angry with me.”

“What? Me?”

“We parted ways after I disparaged your choice and you as a person. You messaged me out of the blue, and sat there, more serious than I’ve ever seen you. I still don’t entirely agree with you, but I can at least see why you made the decision you did; I can respect it like I should have done in the first place. Honestly, Kyrlos. Look at me. Changing this much, do you think I’d still be holding onto high school bitterness?”

Kyrlos wasn’t sure how to answer that.

“I’m not sure how to answer that. Missed a lot. You could be anyone by now.” That sounded harsher than he intended. “Just- I think we fucked up.”

“I think we just met in a very strange part of our lives,” Zeke offered.

Kyrlos snorted, breaking some of the serious mood. “Hardly. Leather and spikes? Bleaching your hair? Getting into trouble? That’s just normal teenager stuff.”

Zeke raised an eyebrow.

“Okay, the constantly threatening people and petty theft was a little much,” he conceded. “But _broadly_ speaking, you were just an angry teen. Going from that loud, “fuck society” punk to…this,” Kyrlos didn’t even have anything funny to say about him, could only gesture at Zeke as a whole. “I think we are now, currently, in the weird part of our lives.”

“As we grow and experience new things, we continue our confusion and growth, and it’s only through this that the past becomes less-”

Kyrlos cut him off. “No, no no. None of that fluffy flower-brain talk. Not unless you want a rousing retelling of Xincala military history.”

Zeke leaned back in his chair and rolled his eyes. _There_ , that was a familiar expression, the endlessly put-upon-by-the-world Zeke.

“I don’t think that’s quite as relevant to our conversation at hand. Another time, perhaps.”

Kyrlos grinned. “Yeah? You keep busy with,” he paused. “What do you even do now, I didn’t ask. You _look_ like a yoga instructor.”

Zeke was noticeably quiet again.

“I,” He straightened up in his seat. “Teach guided lessons for youth in meditation and basic martial arts poses… Also on the edge of town.”

He barked a laugh.

“Yeah? Stretchy pants and all? Maybe I’ll pop on over to you at work-”

“Interrupting my lessons, I’m sure.”

“-and I can bring you coffee-”

“You will not, you put too much sugar in it.”

"Maybe even get a pair of dumb stretchy pants myself."

Even as Zeke was preemptively scolding him, his mouth was turned into something soft and affectionate. A new expression, surely, from the bared teeth and bloodied lips that used to press wild kisses into his, but one worth getting to know better. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this was originally going to have some bullshit drama where they talk about their shitty teenage quasi-breakup but then i said fuck that and let these two old men drink coffee together and just kind of talk for about 1500 words  
> it's probably not even super in-character but it was fun and chill to write


	21. Character A is pretending to be their friend’s lover for the sake of the friend’s family. Character B is said friend’s sibling.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> fair warning there is a LOT less batty in here than i originally intended because I got distracted by the possibilities in ashe and dont's friendship. join them for this shitty family reunion!

“Thanks again for coming with me, Ashe! You have _no idea_ how awkward this would be otherwise.”

Ashe shuffled in her seat next to her roommate. “I…suppose I don’t.”

Dont had said something similar when she first asked Ashe to come with to her family’s house over the holiday. She’d been insistent, but evasive on the details; all Ashe understood was that she didn’t leave under the best circumstances.

“Irreconcilable differences,” she’d said.

And then Dont received a message from her mothers after years of mutual silence, requesting her to come home. The Piex-Bates’ were apparently very particular, hosting gatherings for only close family and friends, which meant that Ashe would be going as Dont’s companion of ambiguous relation. She wasn’t saying anything outright, but Ashe could only imagine how she’d react to her own family summoning her like this – in truth, she probably just wouldn’t go – so she didn’t ask too many questions and was only slightly reluctant in agreeing.

Now, with the GPS showing them closing in on their destination, Ashe once again felt the flickerings of anxiety in her stomach. The houses they were passing were…large, growing into manor houses. And the lawns were stretching into estates. And Dont, happily chatting through the four hour car ride, finally grew quiet when she pulled off into a long driveway. Ashe suddenly felt drastically underqualified for this. She tried to think of something fortifying to say for the both of them, but was coming up empty. Dont parked her second- or maybe third-hand car next to…okay, Ashe didn’t actually know what the other cars in the driveway were, but they looked shiny and expensive. Dont, in the slouchy beanie Gregor made for her. Dont, in her comfy hoodie and clunky boots. Actually taking the time to _see_ her friend, Ashe noticed the certain set of her jaw, the tilt of her chin while she looked up at the looming building in front of them. Not nervous, but defiant, and Ashe felt a small flash of pride for her. Whereas Ashe was scared of her mistakes basically constantly, Dont didn’t let herself think like that. She was uniquely fearless in living exactly as she thought she should and not letting anyone take it away from her.

Dont turned the car off and turned to her.

“Ready?”

Ashe nodded once and reached forward to grab Dont’s hand. “Yes. Yeah, I am. Let’s go meet your parents.”

She looked down and smile quizzically. “Okay… Thank you, Ashe, but you _will_ have to let go for us to get out of the car.”

“…Right.”

Ashe scrambled around to open the door for Dont, trying not to conspicuously glance over at the curtained windows. Dont’s hand was calm and cool in her own walking up to the entrance, but just before reaching out to knock, she gave Ashe’s hand one quick squeeze.

The door opened.

She was…striking. Shorter, smaller, like Dont, but wiry. Thick dark hair and sharp, unimpressed eyes. She stared briefly at Ashe, choking on her greeting, and then nodded to Dont.

“Batty!” she chirped, and reached out like she was going to hug her, but reconsidered, still smiling widely in surprise. Batty reached out and patted Dont's shoulder instead. “I didn’t know you’d be here.This is Ashe,” Dont said, stepping back and taking her hand again. “Ashe, _this_ is my sister.”

Dont squeezed her hand again, harder this time, belatedly prompting her to blurt out, “It’s nice to meet you!” to Batty’s already retreating back.

Dont looked at her, fumbling and blushing, and she sighed; Ashe could see the family resemblance in their expressions.

“…I didn’t know you had a sister,” she mumbled.

Without a word, Dont tugged her through the doorway into the Piex-Bates estate. Even Ashe’s soft-soled shoes echoed unnervingly down the meticulously color-coordinated hallway, making everything feel both bigger but also emptier and making her miss the familiar screeching, rickety floorboards at home. Rounding a corner, she caught sight of Dont’s parents for the first time.

The two women were seated in a deep red couch, looking cool and impervious, Batty apparently disappearing somewhere into the house. The one seated on the left, sporting a sharp bob similar to Dont’s own, stood as they came in. She nodded in acknowledgement to Ashe and signed something to Dont before gesturing them to sit. The woman on the right with dozens of tiny braids pulled up into a bun smiled distantly and greeted them.

“Dont, dear. It is good to see that you good make it. You look well.” She had am even, melodic voice, like a prerecorded voice message. “And this must be your…” Mrs. Piex-Bates-with-the-Bun looked to Ashe, and all at once, she felt a wave of something harder than familiarity, something colder than nostalgia.

She and Dont had grown up in vastly different environments, clearly. As a child in her pocket-sized community, she could never have imagined living in a house this big or driving cars that nice or that clothing was even _sold_ that expensive. All of that was strange and out of her world, but Ashe could see in them the same expression that her father gave to people that came to the house, and the one that Ashe mirrored. _Tuck your shoulders back, don’t fidget, don’t lean forward, don’t laugh so laud._ It was something…bland and bored with its own security, its superiority, its calculating confidence.

 _Entitled_ , the Markus in the back of her brain supplied. _Elitist._

And Ashe _hated_ how it felt, but she knew these roles, and even if she couldn’t act, Ashe knew better than anyone how to push away her personal discomfort and _fill a role_.

“Ashe,” she said, letting her words relax, her back straighten, and her old, old habits take over. “My name is Aesling.”

It was easier than Ashe would have expected to fall into their rhythm of accepting their pointed questions and giving fake smiles and exchanging bland, _“Ah, how lovely”_ s while being shown around the house and its various features. They seemed very interested in her reactions, and Ashe was pulling every bullshitting technique she picked up to get through the conversation. All the while, she had to be very alert to the direction of the conversation. Every time it drifted toward Dont, their tone noticeably shifted, and Ashe didn’t want to hear – didn’t want Dont to hear – what they had to say. What she lacked in finesse, Ashe made up for with spouts of distracting word-vomit. It wasn’t terribly interesting, but after what must have been over thirty minutes, her head was honestly starting to hurt from it all. Focused as she was, Ashe almost didn’t notice Dont getting quieter and quieter, trailing behind her and Mrs. and Mrs. Piex-Bates until finally, they stopped in front of a door.

“And this is your room for the night. I assume you’ll be staying together.”

Ashe was surprised to see a smile approaching something like genuine from Mrs. Piex-Bates-with-the-Bun.

“Oh. Um, yes, I believe so. Thank you.”

Mrs. Piex-Bates-with-the-Bob signed something to her wife, who nodded.

“We’ll let you two get settled in for now, but Dont.” They both turned. “We would like to speak with you privately when you have a chance.”

With that, they were left to their room and very large bed.

Ashe shuffled her feet, absently admiring the weirdly plushy texture of the carpet.

“Well, your parents sure are…” She shook her head.

“Oh, don’t worry, they loved you. You made a great impression on them.” Donts voice was tight.

Ashe opened her mouth to ask what she meant, but Dont continued on first, more to herself than anything.

“I’m so stupid, I shouldn’t have come; I shouldn’t have made you come. _God_ , Ashe, I’m sorry. Listen, please, they’re not always like that. They were not like that for me growing up here, and I hate being here because sometimes, sometimes they were, but Ashe you don’t understand-”

“Whoa, Dont! Wait!” Ashe ran forward and hugged her until her words trailed off. “No, I get- Well okay, I don’t know if I _‘get it,’_ get it, but I…” she trailed off, feeling clumsy. “…get it. I know none of our friends really talk about their families at all ever, but I left mine.” Ashe swallowed thickly, trying to weigh how much she was willing to talk about herself in exchange for reassuring her friend. “And I know how that decision feels. Because it doesn’t feel good…even if it feels _right_. I thought,” Ashe shook her head. “I don’t know, I thought you came home to show them up? Or something like that? Like…I was trying to play by their rules…” Which, now that she said it out loud, didn’t make as much sense as she’d hoped.

Dont gave a short, wobbly laugh. “I don’t want to impress them, Ashe; there’s a reason I didn’t ask Inien here, or Markus. I don’t want them to think that they mean…anything to me anymore – that what either of them think means anything. I came here,” Don’t voice was stronger now. “For me. And I just need you to be here for me, too. Not them. Please.”

Ashe was starting to get restless from the prolonged hug, but she gave Don’t one last squeeze before letting go. All she could say was, “I’m sorry.”

Don’t pulled away looking miraculously more calm and put-together than Ashe would have expected and waved a hand, dismissing her. “No, you were doing what you could, considering I didn’t want to tell you anything. I’m going to go talk to my parents, and then we’re _probably_ going to have to leave, so don’t get too comfy here.”

Not a minute after the door closed, a short knock sounded and it was immediately opened again. Batty came in carrying hers and Dont’s overnight bags under each arm.

“Oh, thank you, that’s-”

She dropped them unceremoniously to the floor.

“Oh…kay, um-”

Ashe watched Batty watching her, not knowing what to do. She wasn’t sure where Batty fit in this picture.

Apparently deciding something, Batty shook her head once and rapidly signed something at her. Ashe’s head became static. She could not even begin to guess-

Seeing her doe-eyed expression, Batty rolled her eyes and typed something into her phone. A tinny robotic voice read, _*_ _You’re not dating Dont*_

The voice was flat, giving no indication if that was intended to be a question, but Ashe figured this was the standard sibling shovel-talk.

“Well, I never-”

_*You didn’t know she had a sister*_

“I- How did you _hear_ that-”

*Do _you know why she’s here?*_

Ashe paused. Dont still hadn’t told her. It wasn’t…necessary that she know, but she’d just seen what misinformation could do, and if Batty could fill her in…

“I…know why she _came_. Should I? Know why she's here”

Batty shrugged.

“Can you tell me?”

She shook her head. _*Not important.*_

Ashe sighed, but that was essentially the same thing that Dont had told her. It didn’t matter why her parents wanted her here. She looked at Batty, wondering if would be rude to ask…

“Why did _you_ come?”

Batty shrugged again and reached behind her to another bag she had been carrying. She opened it and showed Ashe a small collection of records and a few small personal affects.

“You,” Ashe shook her head. “Came back into... _whatever_ all this that’s going on for some records?”

She shrugged again then added,  _*After I heard Dont was coming home. To help her. To be a distraction. Make things interesting."_ She quirked her head to the side as she looked Ashe over. _"I'm glad she brought you here.*_  

Oh. Well. There were...some different ways to take that-

 _*Do you want to help me? Make things interesting? You have to say yes or no first.*_   

Again, the inscrutable text-to-voice from Batty's phone made reading the tone of the question difficult, but Batty's eyes were alight with something like mischief. 

"Well, I guess. I don't- I mean. Yes, um. I do."

Batty nodded and flashed a sharp, toothy smile. She held up a finger to wait while she tilted her head to think, or...listen? All she could hear were muffled voices from coming down the hall, and Ashe wondered what she agreed to-

Batty stepped forward decisively and pulled her into messy kiss just as the bedroom door opened. Some part of Ashe’s brain registered that she had just been used as a prop, and another part wondered if she should be insulted by this, but Batty seemed in no rush to part from her and it seemed that Batty was very good at distractions. When she finally did pull away, she turned from Ashe – still reeling – to her parents – stunned – and finally to Don’t, hand clasped over her mouth. Ashe followed her gaze; she was having a difficult time reading if they (Batty) had successfully broken the tension. 

" _Well_ ," Mrs. Piex-Bates-with-the-Bun gathered herself. "I _never_ -"

At the same time, Dont broke into a high, familiar peal of laughter that Ashe realized she hadn't heard since her parents' letter came. 

"What have you two been _doing_ -?"

"I can't believe-"

"What in the world-"

Their voices were overlapping and Mrs. Piex-Bates-with-the-Bob resignedly closed her eyes, looking just  _so_ disappointed that Ashe could help the laugh that escaped. Batty looked proud of herself;  _See?_   Batty gave a half-hearted wave to her mothers as she left the room, her work completed. Ashe looked between Bun and Bob Piex-Bates, and the door, before snatching up their bags and grabbing Dont's hand to follow after.

Escaping the big house to the bigger, colder outside, Dont's laughs finally trickled off into an occasional tired giggle. Ashe had almost expected Batty to vanish again, but she was leaning patiently against Dont's car. 

"...I thought you were working for that weird business guy," Dont asked. 

Batty waved a hand back and forth. _So-so_. 

"Do you need to pick up anything else?"

Batty kicked the stuffed back at her feet. 

Dont shrugged and looked at Ashe, but she knew the drill. All three got into the car, and Ashe began running down the list of friends Batty would inevitably meet. 

"Welcome to the club. Okay so first thing, Markus is going to want to hug you. You'll be able to know it's him because as soon as he sees you he'll probably spread his arms like a bird. Don't worry about telling him to leave you alone, he's fine. Right behind him will be Thog, he owns the building but he's cool. He'll let you stay or add you to the lease or whatever. You might actually get along with Inien, plus she's the only one that doesn't already have a roommate. Calls us all 'co-dependent.'"

Batty quietly listening so far, nodded at that. She closed her eyes and leaned her head against Ashe's shoulder, gesturing for her to continue. 

"Oh! Um, right. Yeah. So, there's Inien, and also Gregor lives with Thog; he's kind of adopted everyone, but Thog's is only Gregor's actual guardian. Kyr's weird but good, you may or may not see him, if feels like there's weird stretches of time where he just kind of disappears. Harlock's a new addition to the building..."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey gals, is it gay to kiss a girl if it's to help out a friend?
> 
> this was all better paced in my head but i feel like this idea would have done better as a multi-chapter thing. i don't have that kind of time tho so i ended up dropping plot details like ~are are dont and batty actually here~ and trying to crunch the ending in


End file.
